The Thorn in the Side
by buttercups3
Summary: A number of occurrences at the end of season 5 cause the Jeff team to realize how much they've grown to depend on their resident psychologist. BB are assigned to a new therapist, and Zack gets into trouble at the institution.
1. Chapter 1

_Spoilers are for The Boy with the Answer and the season 5 finale. __This fic looks at Sweets' growth as a psychologist throughout Bones and explains some tensions behind the scenes of the final eps of season 5. This is at least as much a BB fic as a Zack fic, but it's always hard to decide how to list these things. __Updates will come at a moderate to slow pace compared to past stories. Darn RL._

_An addition to this A/N: If you're unfamiliar with my stories, I'm a Sweets devotee-all of my fics celebrate and explore Baby Duck. That being said I cherish all of the characters on Bones, including Zack. I'm sorry to those Zack fans who lost their boy, and I hope this story can do his complex character some justice!  
_

_Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, and I take no credit for them. I just adore them. :) Thank you for reading!  
_

_

* * *

_

It had been a week since the trial and conviction of Heather Taffet—the Gravedigger. It was May, but it felt like a cheap, steamy November. The cherry blossoms had wilted and spring rains pummeled Washington, D.C. No one at the Jeffersonian was happy, despite their recent victory in court.

Lance Sweets was on the phone with Andrew Hacker. While Andrew came off as an affable guy to most, when interacting with Sweets, he tended to treat the psychologist as more of a whipping boy. It was a role Sweets was familiar with. He seemed to exude something from his pores that said, _Bully me_. Even customarily nice people often felt compelled to push Lance's buttons just to see him react. No matter how hard Sweets tried, he usually reacted, inviting more torment. Lance was working on standing up for himself, but he spoke to Andrew so infrequently that he hardly found it worth his while to redirect Andrew's behavior. Instead, Sweets was sitting in glum silence, while Booth's boss berated him.

Apparently, Andrew had noticed what he thought was the unraveling of the Booth-Brennan partnership and had cowed Sweets' direct superior, Bernie, into letting him confront Lance on the matter. Sweets was unsure of how Andrew had even wrested control of this situation other than the fact that he was responsible for the welfare of his agents and had recently been part of Sweets' annual review committee.

"All I'm saying is you've gotten a little too close to your patients, and some of the higher ups are saying it's unprofessional. This is where you got the lower marks in your recent review," Andrew was nagging in a faux-sympathetic tone. "You're young, but your credentials recommended you, and the FBI took a chance on you."

Lance didn't appreciate being reamed by Andrew under cover of geniality, but he had feared this check on the Booth-Brennan situation was a long time in coming. The partially poor review he'd gotten a week ago had clued him into the fact that some weren't happy with his therapeutic techniques. He'd hidden past problems between Booth and Brennan that he should have reported. He had grown to love them almost like family. It _wasn't_ professional, and yet here he was.

Andrew continued, "Your profiles are solid, so you can continue to work in that capacity for the Jeffersonian, but we've decided that you should no longer see Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan as therapist or research observer. A number of people have expressed concerns about the direction their partnership is taking—"

"Who?" Sweets interrupted at last, irritably. He wondered if somehow this wasn't more about Andrew's infatuation with Brennan than anything else. But he was too provoked to make any particular connections. He felt hot and sticky in his suit jacket and wondered if the air condition was broken. He glanced at the rainstorm outside. Watery dirt dripped down his window like wet mascara.

"Caroline, for one."

"Caroline," Sweets dismissed. "She is always making sardonic comments about everyone. Booth and Brennan are fine." He paused. That wasn't exactly true. "Admittedly, they've gone through some upheaval of late, but I've been very impressed with their maturity."

"Something perhaps you could learn from?" Andrew suggested in a low voice.

Sweets wondered if anyone else saw this side of Andrew. Lance had observed how jolly he was with Booth and Brennan. A lot of people at the FBI treated Lance like a kid, and it was really beginning to wear on him. Sure, he had begun working there at 22, but now he was 25—hardly the youngest person around. He often cursed his plump, pink lips and his high cheek bones that made him look boyish as ever.

Lance collapsed in his chair unsure of how to respond to Andrew's comment. He wanted to stick up for himself, but he was not so naïve as to miss the truth of what Andrew was criticizing. Lance had let himself get far too close to Brennan and Booth to be an objective therapist. Their partnership was most likely in trouble—it had been greatly strained by the Gravedigger case. And part of Lance feared he had forced the current state of crisis by encouraging Booth to gamble on his love for Brennan. Yet Lance knew that Booth wouldn't have acted unless he had wanted to; the psychologist didn't have special powers over him.

Booth had stopped by Sweets' office the day after the agent had been turned down by Brennan.

"_Booth!" Sweets had greeted his friend, and then his face fell. It was obvious that Booth was in distress. He appeared to have slept little. This could only mean one thing._

"_I did it, Sweets; I gambled and lost."_

_Sweets looked sharply out the window. "Well, I'm sure you knew that was a real possibility. Will you two recover?"_

"_Recover?" Booth asked with a touch of annoyance. "Sure, we're still friends. We'll always be partners."_

"_Always?" Lance asked wistfully. Part of him was afraid this was the beginning of the end._

_Booth plopped down on Sweets' couch and looked at his large hands. "I'm ready to move on, Sweets. I need…more in life."_

"_Yeah, well good," Lance said with more bitterness than he would have liked to betray. He found he was almost angry at Brennan, though he understood why she had shied away. She was still too afraid to open herself to the possibility of failing at a relationship with Booth and losing the most important person in her life for good. "You deserve happiness, Booth. You're a good man."_

_Sweets tried to swallow his emotions. He kept thinking about the ring he had put on Daisy's finger a few days ago, and how he'd felt his heart would burst with joy when she said yes to his marriage proposal. But he felt no joy now, regarding his miserable friend. He wanted to shake Dr. Brennan and say that it was better to try for happiness than to spend your life running from the specter of defeat._

_Booth's expression changed. He was a tough man, and he was going to move forward, Lance observed with awe. Booth did not dwell or mope. Sweets thought, I should be so stoic. But he was shaking a little with upset as if he himself had suffered a rejection._

"_Well, Sweets, that's life. Bones has her own way of dealing with things." He looked pointedly at Sweets. "I don't regret asking."_

_With this statement Lance felt a little relief. He swallowed a lump of guilt that had bubbled up at the thought that his book may have forced an earlier confrontation than Booth would have chosen. In fact, he couldn't extinguish all of the guilt. He was their therapist after all. Why couldn't he help them to work it out? But they were not marionettes on a stage. They were two intelligent, intense, complicated people, and they had their own minds. _

Following this conversation, the partners had resumed dating others (begun in Booth's case—Lance couldn't remember Booth dating anyone for the entire time he had known him). But Lance had also noted a growing sadness—a kind of void in between the two old friends and coworkers. He sensed something bad on the horizon.

"Dr. Sweets?" Andrew said speaking into the abyss of Sweets' reverie.

"Hm?"

"We're reassigning the elite crime fighting duo to a new therapist, who will evaluate their current situation. Karl Jode." Andrew's tone had lightened.

Sweets responded, "Do whatever you think is best. You're in charge." And he hung up without saying goodbye. Karl Jode—not that douche bag. Looking up he saw that none other than the 'elite crime fighting duo' had entered his office.

Lance flushed. "Uh, how long have you two been standing there?" he asked them nervously. Part of him feared they had read his mind.

"Long enough to hear you refer to someone as a douche under your breath," Booth said smiling and kicked a crumpled piece of paper near the trashcan like a soccer ball.

"Why would you call someone a female genital cleansing product?" Bones asked lifting an eyebrow and placing herself primly on the couch. She smoothed out her red and orange flecked skirt, and her green eyes contrasted fiercely with her creamy skin. Sweets felt a sting of regret for Booth, considering the conversation he had just been recalling.

"Bones!" Booth complained. "Too early in the morning for comments on, you know, female parts."

"I said that out loud?" Sweets said, mouth agape and grabbing his chin. "No wonder Andrew thinks I'm immature," he said under his breath.

But Booth heard him. "Ah, now we're getting the idea. Andrew again," Booth said knowingly.

"My Andrew?" Bones asked confused.

Booth flinched at the possessive. "Yeah, Sweets. Tell Bones how her sugary sweet boyfriend is not so amicable when it comes to dealing with the rogue wunderkind psychologist."

Sweets rolled his eyes at Booth. He had told Booth about his problems with Andrew in confidence. "Agent Booth, please do not bring this up in front of Dr. Brennan."

"What?" Bones asked. "Andrew isn't nice to you? I find that hard to believe!"

"He's fine. Can we move on?" Sweets begged. He felt a surge of loathing at the thought of Karl counseling these two. Damn Karl. Who spelled Karl with a K, anyway? It was pretentious. Lance's heart raced.

"Andrew gave Sweets a terrible review last week. Told Sweets that he has been unprofessional with his patients," Booth said enunciating every word. Clearly he was enjoying the opportunity to unravel Bones' growing affection for her beaux, but he was rather hurting Lance in the process.

"That seems harsh," Bones said, concerned. "Although, you do become overly emotionally involved at times. Did he mean you were being unprofessional with us?" she indicated herself and Booth with a nod.

"It's really none of your business what was said to me in a personal job review," Sweets snapped, and then seeing Bones' wounded look felt instantly terrible. "Andrew is just…not my biggest fan." He paused. "Look, you two have got to get it together. You're being assigned to a new therapist."

"WHAT!" Booth and Bones said together in shock and apparent horror.

Booth added with venom, "Is Andrew trying to break us up? He's after Bones isn't he?"

Sweets tried to calm them with a gesture of his hands. "Apparently, there has been some mention by certain people that you two are not functioning as well as you used to. And that I've gotten too close to you to see it. They think I'm not helping but rather hindering your partnership."

"Who, Sweets? Who is saying this?" Booth asked angrily. He shifted from foot to foot.

"It doesn't matter. You'll have to see Karl Jode," Sweets emphasized the name with obvious disdain. "You'll have to work hard to keep your partnership in tact—so none of the stuff you pull with me, ok? I'm sorry I can't help." Lance felt defeated. Losing his favorite patients was killing him. "I think you guys know that it's really important to the team at the Jeffersonian that you two make this work. You're the glue. The center." Booth and Bones sat in temporary silence. Neither of them would look at each other.

Sweets looked at Brennan for a moment. "Sorry I was short with you, Dr. Brennan." He realized his flash of ire wasn't about her curiosity but rather about her rejection of Booth. "It's not all Andrew's fault that he doesn't trust me. He had some reservations about the FBI hiring me given my…my past."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Booth asked.

"Oh, just that I've not always been the stand up young man that I am today. We all have our dark patches, I guess." Lance shrugged. He looked so distant that neither of the Bs felt compelled to ask any more questions. Booth and Bones exchanged glances before saying their goodbyes.


	2. Chapter 2

_My new rule-2 chapters ahead or no publish! It's hard for me to self discipline. Some unplanned late night writing brought this one home. :) On that note, for those reading "Blue Fish"-it's not dead, just on a little hiatus. I'll get back to it when I return from vacation in a week. It required some soul searching. ;)  
_

_Back to the story at hand, thanks so much for the encouraging reviews and reads! **Cassiopeia**, as I mentioned, Zack's plot isn't secondary but it's also not what you think. His character really starts up in chapter 3. Thanks for reading! **Greytune**-well, glad you like it so far! I hope I don't disappoint! **SFT**-Thanks so much! No, used car salesmen techniques do not figure in here; the dark past I'm referring to is something I've already established in my canon. And Andrew is uber slimy. Gag. I hate faux niceness. **RT**-Can you believe I was able to update? It's a beach-inspired miracle, but don't get used to it. :) I agree Booth doesn't care for Andrew, but he must pretend since the man is his boss. As for progress with Zack, well that will become clear soon enough!_

_

* * *

_

"What do you think that meant?" Bones asked Booth when they were in the hallway approaching the elevator.

"Probably that Sweets had done some stuff in his youth. I dunno, smoked some pot? The FBI background search digs up all kinds of dirt on you," Booth replied.

"It didn't dig up dirt on me when I was cleared to work as a contractor," Brennan declared. She tossed her chocolaty hair.

"Yeah, you're clean as a whistle, Bones," Booth said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. Just then, his phone rang. It was Andrew. Booth spoke briefly to Andrew, his brow furrowed and his tone clipped. He then turned to Bones, who didn't ask him to say hi for her. She was lost in thought.

"Bones? We've got an appointment with our new therapist this afternoon at one. Just what we need. Another shrink in our lives."

Brennan concurred, "I hate psychology. But I like Sweets. If I'm going to have to put up with someone drawing ludicrous conclusions from my every glance, I'd rather it be him."

"Yeah, me too," Booth agreed. Then eying her devilishly as they boarded the elevator he asked, "So you've really never smoked pot?"

Bones looked at Booth. "I've never wanted to surrender control of my faculties—exchange reasoning and logic for…the munches."

"Munchies, Bones. The munchies. Where did you hear about that?" Booth was thoroughly amused.

"Hodgins."

"Of course." Booth shook his head.

* * *

The day had gotten worse and worse for Lance. First he had basically been forbidden to see Booth and Brennan, and now he had just gotten off the phone with the McKinley Psychiatric Hospital. Zack had gotten into some kind of altercation with the staff. Sweets had been seeing less of his patient lately, because he found that he was overburdened at the FBI. He'd split his role as Zack's therapist with a psychiatrist at the institution. Lance knew the psychiatrist—Dr. Harper—had recently begun medicating Zack and that Zack was not happy about this. It would fall to Sweets to address the growing rift between Zack and Dr. Harper, but the unpleasant task kept getting pushed down Sweets' to-do list. Now the situation had come to a head. He should never have let things get so far.

Sweets was furiously typing up an unrelated FBI report on his computer so he could zip over to the hospital and manage the Zack situation. All of a sudden, he heard several bodies crash through his office door. Damnit, he did not want to look up. He just had two more sentences. Just two more…

"Sweets, you would not believe this Karl Jode guy! What a tool! I refuse to see him again. He told me that bullying him would have no affect on him and that Bones was behaving like a robot!"

Whereas bullying does have an effect on me, right? Lance thought. He had gazed over his shoulder briefly and then returned to typing.

"His bedside manner was most unpleasant," Bones concurred.

Sweets glanced again and saw that they had sat down upon his couch. They were insufferable, Lance thought, but he had to admit that he was a bit pleased that they hated their new therapist.

Sweets replied, "Sorry you didn't like him. But it takes time to develop a comfortable rhythm between therapist and patient. You didn't care for me at first either, right." It wasn't really a question. Lance looked back at his report with resumed determination.

"Sweets, if we're going to get therapy, we want you! Why don't you demand to have us back!" Booth continued energetically. Brennan was actually nodding.

Lance stopped typing and turned fully around to face the duo. "You want me to fight for you?" Lance laughed almost manically, thinking of his conversation with Booth long ago when he had thought Daisy had been cheating on him. He'd asked Booth if he should fight for Daisy. This was a strange twist on that situation.

Booth and Bones both started talking at once, relaying bits of what Karl had told them, and finally an exasperated Lance had to interrupt them.

"Guys! I'll give you therapy to recover from your therapy later. I have a situation I have to deal with right now." He typed the last two words of his report and prepared to send the file in an email.

He heard his friends protesting behind him. He pressed send, swiveled around, and hopped out of his seat.

"Look, I'll talk to Andrew tomorrow. In fact, Agent Booth, it wouldn't hurt if you talked to him first. But like I said, there's a problem that I absolutely must attend to. It involves, Zack," he added desperately, hoping this would convince at least Brennan to release him. Perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned Zack, because suddenly the anthropologist looked defiant.

"Zack? What's wrong? I'm coming with you!"

Lance's jaw dropped open in protest.

"Yeah, Sweets. C'mon we'll take you over there," Booth added, seeing that his partner was in distress.

"No, you will not! Zack's my _patient_—he's your friend, and you have not arranged for a visitation."

Lance wondered if this was some misguided guilt on Brennan's part. She hadn't been to see Zack in months. Lance thought perhaps the anticipation and actual event of the Gravedigger case had stirred up uncomfortable feelings for Dr. Brennan regarding her former student. How must it have felt to have her guidance substituted out for a cannibal's? Sweets shivered at the thought.

Certainly she felt guilty, whether she admitted it or not. Hell, Lance felt guilty about the Gormogon situation. Somehow his own enthusiasm for this early profile had gotten out of hand enough to convince several of the Jeffersonian team that he and not Zack had allied with the Master. Gormogon had gotten so far underneath everyone's skin that Lance felt that no one would ever quite recover even if Zack were eventually released. He tried to take solace in the fact that at least Heather Taffet, their second major serial killer, was behind bars. For the time being…

"Booth, I need to see Zack," Bones demanded, pulling on her partner's arm, almost like a little girl who had discovered the toy she had to have. Sweets felt terrible for her. And her desperation was enough for Booth.

"We're coming, Sweets. Now let's go!" The agent put his hand on Sweets' shoulder and tried to will him toward the door.

Lance shook his head. He was fed up with everyone today.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks to everyone reading and following! I appreciate the support very much. _

_**Peanutmeg**-Glad you still enjoy my Sweets. You are a faithful reader! *hugs*. **D**-You can indeed put a hit on Andrew-I support that. I think BB already have Karl Jode on the run. **Cassiopeia**-Poor Zack. If Sweets had his way there would be no meds. **RT**-I'm too impatient for 3 ahead! 2 ahead is killing me. Publishing motivates me like nothing else. ;) You know how I love writing Brennan dialogue, so thanks for the shout out. I adore her. **Greytune**-I'm flattered! I hope you continue to enjoy. I'm actually not a BB shipper, though I would like to see them together at the end of the series. I'm a Sweets fangirl through and through. He drew me to the show and inspires all of my fics. **SFT**-Thanks for appreciating the dialogue! I see I have some fics of yours to catch up on! Darn vacation limiting my FF time. Can't wait to read. :)  
_

_

* * *

_

At McKinley, Lance dashed off barely caring about what happened to Booth and Brennan. He inquired after Zack and heard that he was being restrained in a "safe" room. Apparently, he had had some kind of hallucination and scratched an orderly who had tried to physically move him.

Lance shook his head. That did not sound like Zack. This was a side effect of the medication. Anger bubbled up at Dr. Harper, Zack's onsite psychiatrist. Unfortunately, like at the FBI, Lance was resented here by many as an outsider and a psychologist rather than an MD. It had been difficult to arrange to continue seeing Zack. Zack (and the team at the Jeffersonian) had no idea how many hoops Lance had been through in order to provide the guy with stability and a connection to his friends.

Zack wasn't very emotive, and Lance wasn't even sure that Zack valued him as therapist. Sweets realized that he probably stuck with Zack more to please Dr. Brennan and the rest of the Jeff team than anything else. And yet he had to admit, Zack had grown on him in the past year. Lance was beginning to see what had drawn the team to Zack—under his cerebral exterior he was actually eager to fit in, loyal, and complex. There was an inner gentleness about Zack; ironic, considering the man was in an institution for allegedly killing someone. Of course, only Sweets knew that this had never occurred.

Zack was sitting on the floor in a corner of the tiny room—his knees drawn into his chest and his eyes blank. He was obviously sedated, which deeply distressed Lance. Zack had the sharpest of minds when sober, and this was not the man Lance had come to know.

"Zack?" Sweets asked tentatively. He crossed the room and sat on the floor by his patient. His suit pants felt tight, and he was woefully exhausted. Andrew's words that Lance got too close to his patients flicked through his mind, but he pushed the rising feelings of inadequacy aside. He had never seen Zack like this. Zack was just a man, no matter how intelligent. He needed comforting the same as any human.

"Dr. Sweets, I fear I have done something terrible."

Lance thought, worse than conspiring with a flesh-eating serial killer?

"Tell me what happened," he responded gently instead.

"I thought I saw…I thought the orderly was a suicide bomber. I don't know why. That quite obviously makes no sense. This is not Iraq. I am not in the army—I am in a mental hospital." Zack delivered this speech while gazing at his doctor in earnest. His mutilated hands beckoned toward the sky, as if the white, pock-marked ceiling contained his answer.

"It was the medication, Zack. One side effect is seeing things—hallucinations. Another is a desire to harm yourself or others."

Lance looked down at Zack's scarred hands. He took one and helped the smaller man to his feet.

"Come on, I'm taking you out of here to a room where we can talk more comfortably."

"I can speak here," Zack said in confusion.

"Well, I can't. I'm wrinkling my suit!" Sweets complained. "And I have a bad knee from running, so if we sit down here much longer then I may become a permanent resident."

Zack pulled back on Sweets' hand. "I don't want to go out there! What if…if I see something again? I'm not myself, Dr. Sweets!" His eyes flashed with fear. Lance could not imagine anything worse than surrendering control of one's mind.

Lance sighed. There was a reason he was a psychologist and not a psychiatrist. He hated that many of the medications for mental disorders were worse than the diseases. He put an arm on Zack's shoulder and led him patiently to the door.

An orderly helped the two men to a bare room in which a table with four chairs sat. Lance wondered how he could possibly make such a stark setting a comfortable environment in which Zack could open up and heal.

Sweets waited until they were alone and then folded his hands as if in prayer. "Zack, I'm going to ask you the same question I ask you every time we meet. Will you confess that you did not kill a man while under the influence of the Gormogon?"

"No."

Lance sighed. "Ok, then. I want to ask you a little more about your experience in Iraq. Do you think you can handle that given the events of today?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

Lance fought the urge to roll his eyes. Zack was like the extreme version of Dr. Brennan. "You lost a member of your team in Iraq in a car bomb. How did you feel when you reached him and found that he was already dead?"

Zack didn't flinch. "I don't remember feeling anything at the time. Surprise maybe? But now I feel something when I recall the memory: remorse."

"Remorse," Lance repeated with interest.

"Remorse that it wasn't me who had died instead of him."

Lance coughed a little. "Zack, why would you consider his life more valuable than yours?"

"Because he was a kind man. He was like you, Dr. Sweets. He wanted to help people. What's that colloquialism—he'd never hurt a fly."

Sweets lowered his eyes. "Zack, I believe that you have the capacity to get better and get out of here. Don't give up hope on yourself. I know that it can be hard to maintain perspective."

"I don't comprehend the connection between my statement and your response," Zack replied. "Perhaps you misunderstood me. I have come to believe, after spending time conversing with you, that compassion is perhaps a more valuable human attribute than I had formerly grasped."

Lance swallowed audibly. "More valuable than reason?"

"Perhaps. I am losing a sense of…what is true. Is that a side effect of the medication as well?"

"It's the effect of therapy, Zack. It's a good thing that you are considering alternative value systems. It was your former set of principles that got you in here." Sweets looked at Zack, but the man's face was unreadable. Despite Lance's mounting fatigue, he was pleased at Zack's progress.

"You told me that you were in a place like this once," Zack said suddenly.

Lance nodded, uncomfortable. He had told Zack more about himself than any other patient. He wasn't sure why he had gotten so confessional with Zack. Again, it wasn't entirely professional. But Zack responded to logic, and he seemed to improve when he felt Lance really understood the source of his reasoning. Their breakthroughs together had been hard won and each had involved some revelation on Lance's part. Lance also figured Zack wasn't getting out for a long, long time, considering his decision to bear the Gormogon's blame for the lobbyist's murder.

"How did you get out of the institution?" Zack asked Sweets.

"Well, I'd checked in of my own volition, remember."

"Yes, I remember. But how did you know it was safe to leave?"

Lance sighed. He was doing a lot of that today. "I didn't, Zack, but I just missed things about the outside world. I figured if I missed things enough, then I probably didn't want to…you know _kick it_ quite yet."

Zack's eyes pierced into Sweets'. "Kick it?"

There was a knock and an orderly said, "I'm sorry to interrupt, Dr. Sweets, but there is an FBI agent insisting that he see Dr. Addy, and also Dr. Harper wants to talk to you right away."

Lance patted Zack on the arm gently and got up. He went out into the hall and saw an irate Dr. Harper standing alongside Dr. Brennan and Booth.

Bones said, "Booth convinced the facility to let us see Zack." She seemed pleased and worried all at once.

Lance just nodded. He was annoyed at them for tagging along and possibly getting him into trouble. But he moved aside to speak to Dr. Harper. Their conversation turned heated almost immediately. Bones and Booth closed the door on them and ventured into the soundless world of Zack's chamber.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you so much for the enthusiastic response to Chapter 3! I hope you all continue to enjoy. _

_**RT**, thanks for appreciating my mix of humor and tragedy. That's life, as far as I'm concerned, especially when it comes to Zack and Sweets. Sigh. ;) *hugs* **D**, As I mentioned Dr. Harper's not a quack but a more typical MD, who is eager to medicate. Dr. Brennan explains a little more in this chapter. Thanks for your faithful reviews! **A.M. Katy**, Your praise means the world to me! I seek to satisfy the Zack fangirls as much as the Sweets' fangirls in this story! Of course, I don't know him as well as you, so feel free to offer suggestions on his characterization, if needed. Thanks again for your delightful review! :D **Peanutmeg**, You are always so kind. *hugs back* **Cassiopeia**, Wait and see-you will get the full story of Lance's institutionalization eventually! ;) **Mysterious Jedi** and **Eternal Mist**, Thanks for reading and reviewing! It makes my day! **Super Ario**, Don't worry, things usually work out for the best by the end of my stories. Thanks for the compliment! **SFT**, Thanks for noticing my work on Zack's character. He does have a heart, doesn't he? I wish we could have more Zack in the institution on the show. Sigh. I have to warn, there's not much Swaisy in this story, but thanks for reading anyway! _

* * *

As Booth and Brennan entered the room containing Zack, the wooden chairs, and a bare table, Bones whispered to her partner, "Is it just me, or does Dr. Sweets seem mad at us?"

Booth looked at her without signaling agreement; he was focused on the task at hand. They moved to sit across from Zack, who lifted his eyebrows.

"Hello Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth. I haven't seen anyone from the Jeffersonian in quite some time. What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry it has been so long, Zack," Brennan apologized. "I've been very busy."

"Of course you have. You are the top specialist in your field. I expect that you would be consumed by your endeavors," Zack replied not looking in the least bit hurt. He did appear slightly embarrassed, as he said, "I apologize. They gave me a sedative, and my cognitive responses are impaired."

"That's understandable," Bones agreed. She thought about earlier in the year when she had been stabbed in the arm by a lunatic doctor and had been put on heavy painkillers. She shivered to think of how people of average intelligence functioned on a daily basis.

Booth found the conversation oddly endearing and jumped in, "Zack, what happened today? We want you out of here, not getting yourself into more trouble."

This place gave Booth the creeps. It was his first time visiting Zack, he was sorry to admit. When things had gotten really rough with Booth's alcoholic father in his youth, he had fantasized about ending his own life. Once he had even taken a bottle of pills to bed with him and raged all night with his inner demons. What if he _had_ attempted suicide and ended up in a place like this? What if he had hurt himself or someone else in his short-sighted fury? Booth's grandfather, Pops, had saved him from himself by being his rock and refuge. Booth shivered and wondered how different Zack actually was from himself.

"I don't wish to discuss it," Zack replied. Then, without missing a beat, he continued, "Agent Booth, will you do me a favor?" he asked, his expression unchanging.

"I can try?" Booth said as more of a question, glancing at Bones who was already pleading for his compliance with her puppy-dog eyes.

Brennan was feeling an odd combination of guilt at her negligence of Zack and bewilderment at her own guilt. The logical side of her insisted that she simply hadn't had the time or energy to be visiting her former assistant lately. Her emotional side insisted that she loved Zack. He was like family.

"I do not want Dr. Harper to see me anymore. I only want Dr. Sweets as my therapist. Dr. Sweets understands what it is like to be in a place like this." Zack was adamant.

Booth glanced at Bones again, "You mean because Sweets used to work in an institution?"

Booth vaguely remembered Sweets mentioning something like that in the case involving a schizophrenic with devil-horn implants. Sweets said he had interned in Philadelphia at a mental health facility.

"No, I mean because Dr. Sweets was once in an institution himself. Didn't you know?" Zack asked, then immediately realized that he had done badly by Dr. Sweets. "Revealing that to you was injudicious. I am sorry." He lowered his eyes.

Booth's mouth hung open. "Don't be sorry to us…it's Sweets you should apologize to. Sweets is…_was_ crazy?" He was confused and felt blind sighted by this revelation. Booth considered Sweets a friend; he didn't like to think of the kid as unstable.

"I doubt Dr. Sweets would qualify as crazy," Zack replied, looking confused.

Dr. Brennan said, "We should go, Booth. They told us five minutes." Brennan tried to avoid processing this new information. She itched to leave.

Booth nodded. "We should go."

Brennan reached out and touched Zack's hand. Its flesh felt oddly rotted away. "I promise I'll visit again soon, Zack."

Zack looked at her with tired eyes and nodded.

In the hallway, Dr. Harper was still bellowing at Sweets.

Sweets responded in a very sharp voice that bordered on a yell, "I understand that you think Zack is unstable, but he wasn't hinting about suicide or attacking orderlies until you put him on antidepressants!"

Both doctors swung their heads around when they heard the FBI duo approaching. Lance flushed and deeply regretted that Brennan had heard this last statement.

"We have to go," Lance said to Dr. Harper. "Do NOT give Zack anything else until we discuss this further."

"He's my patient, Dr. Sweets!" Dr. Harper pronounced the word 'doctor' with utter contempt, betraying his disdain for the mere Ph.D.

Sweets rolled his eyes and stalked off huffily.

"You ok there, Sweets?" Booth asked tentatively. He suddenly felt he knew so little about the psychologist that Sweets' presence unsettled him.

"What, that? Yeah, we'll sort it out." I have no idea how, Lance thought. "Booth?"

Booth was surprised by Sweets' familiarity. Too often he referred to him only as Agent Booth. "What Sweets?"

"Do you think you could maybe visit Zack and…and talk to him about Iraq? About being in the service?"

Booth pondered this. He was not at all comfortable with the suggestion. "I dunno. I don't know what I'd say."

"You don't have to, it's just a thought." Lance shrugged and wandered to Booth's SUV. He waited patiently for Booth to unlock the door like a child. Booth realized that as much as he wanted to see Sweets as a kid, Sweets had probably never really been a kid. He'd had a hard life. A brutal one.

As they were heading away from McKinley, Booth couldn't help but ask, "Why would antidepressants make a person violent?"

Brennan answered instead of the morose Sweets in the back seat. "The potential side effects of antidepressants include increased suicidal feelings, anxiety, heightened depression, mood swings, insomnia, aggression, tremors…" her voice trailed off to indicate there was more where that came from.

Booth's mouth hung open. "Why would anyone ever take them?"

"Not everyone experiences side effects, Booth," Brennan explained. "Or at least not the terrible ones. Medication is necessary for many mental disorders."

Sweets grunted agreement and folded his arms, closing himself off from the world.

* * *

Later that night, Booth and Brennan were having drinks at the Founding Fathers. Booth rattled the ice in his scotch, while his partner absent-mindedly sipped pinot noir.

Bones turned to Booth. "You've killed perhaps 50 men as a soldier."

Booth set down his drink and stiffened his shoulders. He glanced at the pretty blond bartender to see if she'd heard. He gazed back at Brennan. Her hair shone like spun silk in the dim glow of the bar.

Brennan continued. "Sweets once said that's the kind of thing that would keep a man up at night. Does it?"

Booth looked at her a little longer and thought sadly of her rejection of him a month before. "Um, yeah. It does sometimes. Killing another human changes a person. But I guess you'd know about that, too." Bones' emerald eyes were masked.

She swirled her wine like a tiny red tornado.

"You thinkin' about Zack?" Booth asked wistfully.

"No. Sweets."

"Sweets? He's never killed anyone." Booth was confused. "Not that I know of anyway," he added under his breath. Why was he angry at Sweets for not telling him about the institution? Was it because Sweets had once made that comment that not all shrinks needed therapy? Somehow Booth felt lied to, yet he wouldn't have confessed if _he_ had been in a mental hospital.

"Why was he in an institution? Do you think it had to do with the scars on his back?" Bones asked pensively. Booth wondered vaguely if she was drunk on half a glass of wine.

"Well I don't think it had _nothing_ to do with the scars. Seems like the kind of thing that would shape a person's life." Booth shuddered as he thought of his own old man, coming after him with a worker's boot. "I think we found out what concerned the FBI about hiring Sweets anyway. Having been in a mental hospital couldn't have recommended him for federal service."

Brennan looked deep in thought. "It's strange. I would think that a person like Dr. Sweets, who had endured the kind of life evident in his scars would be the one in Zack's position. The one who had committed homicide." Her eyes were almost watery.

Booth put a hand on her shoulder in condolence. "I still find it very hard to believe that Zack's a murderer." He thought briefly about his coma dream, in which Zack had been wrongfully imprisoned for a crime he hadn't committed. Booth wasn't convinced that Zack was capable of killing, but isn't that what everyone thinks who finds out someone they know is a murderer?

Booth looked back at the blond bartender, who flashed yellow, cigarette burned teeth at him. One of her incisors was nearly rotted away. Things were never as they appeared. Unsettled he added, "Sweets does seem pretty normal now, I mean, considering everything. Right?"

Brennan nodded distantly. She noticed Booth taking one last peak at the bartender and misinterpreted it as flirting.

"Are you seeing Catherine tonight?" she asked with the tiniest hint of harshness.

"No, we've only been out a few times. I keep telling you that. Are you seeing _Andrew_?" He emphasized the name bitterly.

"No."

"Well maybe you should, so you can talk some sense into him. I think I'd rather check myself into McKinley than see that Karl Jode joker again." Booth downed the last of his drink in disgust. "What would you say to having dinner with our old friend Gordon Gordon in the next few days?"

"Why?" Bones asked studying her partner's strong face.

"Because maybe he can shed some light on the duckling. He has in the past." Booth stretched his arms above his head, ready to call it a night.

"The duckling?" Brennan asked, fumbling her drink. A bit of wine sloshed out onto her paper napkin, sullying it with drops of blood red.

"Sweets, Bones. Sweets."


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you so much for the response to chapter 4!_

_**D**__, I didn't catch that typo—that's what it was, a brain blip, since my brain has shriveled from summer disuse—but your exposition on it was so amusing that now I almost don't want to fix it! :) __**Peanutmeg**__, You will find out the answer to your question in this very chapter! Thanks for your support as usual. :) __**Super Ario**__ and __**RT**__, Gordon will be out and about in Ch. 7, and trust me, I had a ball writing that chapter. I love him too! __**RT**__, thanks! :) Your review was like enjoying a brain-on-the-jacket hug from Sweets. That crushingly good! __**Cassiopeia**__, I kicked Dr. Harper's butt a little for you. Thanks for reading! __**Eternal Mist**__, __You know what Booth would say to that: "Quack, quack!"_

_

* * *

_

The next morning, Angela, Hodgins, Brennan, Cam, and Arastoo were sitting in the lounge area of the second floor of the Jeffersonian. The staff raised colorful mugs of tea and coffee to tired lips in an effort to remain conscious. A harried Cam was attempting to go over new security protocol with her team and current intern, but no one was really listening. Cam's bun was loosening from its pins, and she kept reaching up to secure it back into place.

"Ah-hem. As I was saying," Cam was using her booming, authoritative voice, "new security badges will be issued later this week. You will all need to have a current photo taken of you…Hodgins, is there something you'd like to share with the group?" she asked crossly, like a second grade teacher. Hodgins had been whispering to Brennan in a side conversation.

Hodgins frowned. "Yeah sure. Brennan saw Zack yesterday!" he announced to the group a little aggressively.

Angela audibly gasped. Cam widened her eyes. Clearly everyone was feeling guilty about their lack of recent visits to Zack.

"Zack, your former assistant turned serial killer's apprentice?" Arastoo asked Brennan innocently. Truthfully, none of the interns were too fond of the idea of Zack. His genius was still revered by the Jeffersonian team, and none of the interns would ever half fill Zack's gargantuan shoes in Dr. Brennan's book.

Dr. Brennan glared at him, and Arastoo wished he had held his tongue.

Angela stepped in to disarm the situation. "How is Zack, Sweetie? How are his hands?" Angela's face was full of concern. Even Cam stopped attempting to redirect the conversation and waited expectantly for Brennan's answer.

"There was a problem at the hospital. Zack got into some kind of physical altercation with an orderly. Dr. Sweets doesn't think Zack should be medicated," she explained, leaving out major chunks of the story and getting shocked and confused looks in return.

Three voices rang out at once:

Hodgins demanded, "What medication?"

Angela yelped, "Altercation!"

"Dr. Sweets can't prescribe!" Cam interjected.

Dr. Brennan seemed surprised by the ruckus her truncated version of events had caused. She chose to answer, "Dr. Sweets didn't say specifically which medication—an antidepressant." She inclined her head toward Cam, "Dr. Sweets has been splitting time treating Zack with a psychiatrist at the institution—a Dr. Harper. He appears to be a rather unpleasant individual."

Hodgins got up and ran his hand over his face. "I thought Sweets was in charge of Zack's treatment. It was kind of a comfort, ya know?"

Hostility reared up in Hodgins' chest and threatened to choke him. He was further angry at himself for allowing his temper to best him again. His hands shook a little. He hadn't seen Zack in months, but he still considered Zack his best friend. Didn't he? Come to think of it, Zack didn't know he'd married Angela. Why was he avoiding his friend? He felt like fleeing the building at full charge for McKinley and trying to make up for lost time.

Arastoo was avoiding eye contact with everyone, detecting that the balance of the room had been thrown off. The Jeffersonian team was full of landmines, and he wondered if he could excuse himself without being noticed.

Brennan knew she shouldn't say this, but she couldn't resist the desire to process this next piece of news with her friends. "Zack said he prefers that Dr. Sweets treat him, because he too had been in an institution."

Cam, the only one standing, almost fell over and sat down abruptly instead. Cam didn't know which piece of information had most shocked her—that Zack had attacked an orderly, that Sweets had been in an institution, or that Brennan had just so carelessly dropped that information in a meeting. Cam was actually a little angry at Brennan. She had gone too far.

"Dr. Brennan, can we talk in your office?" she requested. Then to the others she said, "I think we all know this meeting is over. Remember to take your photo sometime this week." The rest of the team was already chatting anxiously or shuffling off. Cam felt sure those photos would never get taken, and she'd be hounding everyone for weeks.

Brennan was striding toward her office in front of Cam and feeling numb. She'd had a horribly difficult time processing her feelings during the recent Gravedigger trial. She honestly did not even want to be at the Jeffersonian anymore. She was tired of investigating murders, tired of how difficult it was to maintain the friendships she'd made here. She had grown too close to everyone and couldn't seem to satisfy them. Earlier in the year she had almost lost Angela's friendship over a pig, and now she felt certain Cam was angry at her given her boss' expression. And what about Sweets? Were they friends? She certainly cared about him, but she wondered how well she really knew him.

As soon as they reached Brennan's office, Cam closed the door with a thud.

"Dr. Brennan, I hold my tongue most of the time with you…" Cam steadied her voice. "You shouldn't have said that—shouldn't have repeated what Zack told you about Dr. Sweets. You could severely damage his reputation. He's just starting out in his career. Just think what could happen if this gets out?"

Brennan was shaken by Cam's speech. She had once accidentally wounded Sweets when she'd falsely believed Daisy had been cheating on him. Had she done even worse by him this time? "Dr. Sweets can trust us to keep his secret," she replied to Cam.

Cam shook her head. "Arastoo."

Brennan replied, "Well, I can ask him not to say anything. He's my student."

Cam was too upset to continue the conversation and began to leave, lips pursed.

Brennan called after Cam, "Sweets was abused—whipped—as a child. I've seen his scars…accidentally. I don't think he's crazy for having been in a facility, given his past." She added the last statement as if to convince herself.

Cam didn't want to learn anymore dirty secrets about Sweets today, so after glancing back at Brennan tiredly, she departed.

* * *

Meanwhile, Angela and Hodgins were still conversing in the coffee area. Angela lifted a bitter-tasting tea up to her neatly lined lips. The steam warmed her face and helped to clear her mind.

"Jack." She took Hodgins' hand and pulled him close. She could see how upset her new husband was. "What's bothering you? I mean, I know all of that was worrisome and then some, but what specifically are you turning over in that brilliant brain of yours?"

Hodgins looked away. "I just, I haven't seen Zack for awhile. He doesn't even know we're married. He's my best friend. He should have been my best man."

"Well, we did get married in jail, so that took care of the wedding party," Angela tried to make light of the situation. Hodgins could go to a dark place all too quickly.

"I think part of me didn't tell Zack about our marriage, because I didn't _want_ to tell him."

Angela asked why with her eyes only. She pulled Hodgins over to her again and wrapped his arms around her waist to give him strength.

He answered her wordless question, "Because part of me blamed him for our breakup."

"Blamed Zack?" Angela asked.

"When he turned out to be a psychotic killer, things just fell apart," Hodgins blurted out sorrowfully. "Zack was the closest person to me in the world other than you. When I lost him, I lost a sense of who I was. I had to almost reinvent myself," _with Sweets' help_, he added to himself. He couldn't believe he was near tears. But he, like Brennan, had experienced an emotional month during the Taffet trial. He hardly felt himself.

Angela held Hodgins close.

"Now that I've moved on, I almost feel like I've betrayed Zack. Why am I only friends with crazy people?" He continued, thinking of Sweets again. He and Sweets had been growing closer over the past year. The psychologist had insisted on seeing Hodgins through his pain and helping him to rebuild his life, even when Hodgins had been insufferable. More recently, Hodgins had helped Sweets through tough times with Daisy, whom he technically loathed. He cared about Sweets more than he wanted to admit.

"Sweets is not crazy, Jack," Angela said reading Hodgins' mind. "We obviously don't know the whole story." Angela was frightened herself by Sweets' hospitalization but was trying to be strong for her own sake as much as her husband's. "And Zack's not a psycho killer. I think you know that. There is more to that story, too. We just…we just don't get to know everything about everyone. We're not some omniscient narrator of our lives. Sure, we take a chance when we form friendships. When we love people. It's worth the risk. We are living proof! Here we are married after all this time."

They clung to each other to collect themselves.

She finally continued, "Part of me may have blamed Zack, too. I hate that thought, but I think it's true. But we know our problems were our own. We should visit Zack."

Hodgins corrected, "_I_ should visit Zack."

Angela nodded.

* * *

Dr. Sweets entered the Jeffersonian, which was oddly devoid of anyone he knew. He was looking for Dr. Brennan to drop off a profile for a case that no one seemed too interested in pursuing. Everyone's minds were elsewhere these days.

Arastoo nearly ran Sweets down.

"Dr. Sweets!" Arastoo called, waving his arms like a wild man.

"Um, yes, Mr. Vaziri?" Sweets almost laughed, because the sight of the intern acting like a maniac trying to get his attention was oddly endearing.

"Would you mind following me?" Arastoo beckoned Lance out of the glass doors and back into the hallway from which Lance had entered. Arastoo was glancing around nervously, like he was afraid of being followed.

"What is it? Are you afraid someone's after you? Did Hodgins get to you with his conspiracy theories?"

Arastoo said, "Dr. Sweets, there's something that you should know."

"Yes?" Lance asked coaxing whatever information Arastoo had out of him. Lance wanted to get his trip to the Jeffersonian over with, as he was supposed to consult with Karl Jode in an hour on Booth and Brennan—a hideous thought. He hated this day already, and it was still early.

Arastoo's panic was mounting. Sweets was beginning to worry about him.

"Do we need to go talk in my office, Mr. Vaziri? Is something the matter?" Lance remembered counseling Arastoo once when it had been revealed that he was faking his Persian accent. Sweets really liked this guy; he was kind.

"Dr. Sweets, people are saying you were in a mental institution! It's all around the office. Everybody knows!" Arastoo blurted out, then hung his head. "I'm so sorry. I just wanted you to know."

Lance's mouth dropped open. How could they possibly…? He was in shock. He literally felt like his heart had stopped.

"Everybody?" Lance repeated. He hadn't even told Daisy, his fiancée, about his brief stay in a mental health facility between college and graduate school. The act of committing yourself was not something that was easy to explain, and thus, Lance never attempted it. He was horrified at what his coworkers must think. Arastoo was positively trembling before him.

"I…I'm not unstable. It's just…" Lance began to explain.

Arastoo put up his hand to silence Sweets. "You don't need to explain yourself. It's none of my business. You were once a great help to me in fitting in here, and I just wanted to return the favor. I've been through war, Dr. Sweets. I don't pretend to know what you've been through, but I've been to hell on earth and back. I know suffering."

Sweets nodded gratefully and waited for Arastoo to depart. Then he made a beeline for the front door and burst out into the muggy May morning. Though he was dressed in a suit and his favorite Italian work shoes, he began running. He was a fast sprinter and probably looked ridiculous, like an office worker gone awol.

He didn't know where he was going, and he didn't care, as long as it was away from here.


	6. Chapter 6

_Once again, thanks for the kind reviews and interest in this story! A Zack-centric chapter, just for the Zack fangirls. ;)_

_**Peanutmeg**, I wouldn't say that Bones is devoid of compassion, but rather that she is going through a really tough time herself and making mistakes. Plus, I've been guilty of passing on info I shouldn't have out of curiosity before, sadly. :( Human nature is not always pleasant. Before Booth is ready to confront Sweets, he needs some Gordon Gordon advice. ;) Thanks for reviewing! **RT**, you're so right that Brennan often needs help processing things. That's exactly what I see happening after the GD trial. I'm so glad we can share the love of Arastoo! Thanks for being such a faithful and kind reviewer. :D **D**, you are indeed correct that Sweets requires some Booth comforting. And yes, Sweets informed us on the show that he used to run track. Thanks for your comments!_

_

* * *

_

At McKinley, it didn't matter if it was morning, afternoon, or night. Every day was the same monotonous routine, and since Zack generally had no visitors save his therapists, the days seemed even more barren. Except Zack had been very surprised to see Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth yesterday. He still wasn't entirely sure why they had come, but he sincerely hoped that Agent Booth would attempt to fulfill his request to secure Dr. Sweets as his only therapist. Zack's underarms began sweating as an image of Dr. Harper came to his mind, and he said aloud:

"I am perspiring. I am nervous. I do not like Dr. Harper."

There was no one to hear Zack's words, and the process of speaking into such a void struck Zack as strange. Though he knew the sound waves of his voice still existed, he found himself wondering if language mattered in his current state of being. Perhaps all language eventually became obsolete in the loony bin.

He sighed and flopped down on his bed. He pulled up the fabric of a tear in his mattress and began counting the contents as he always did at this non-time of non-day. Or so he imagined. He couldn't be sure this was really happening. The mental hospital was stealing away the shards of his fragmented reality, minute by minute, hour by hour.

Zack dreaded the thoughts before they had even formed in his mind: This place is nothing. I am nothing.

Confusion clouded his senses and delivered tortured sleep.

* * *

Lance was sitting face to face with Karl Jode—a dumpy, middle-aged wash up, who was now holding Booth's and Brennan's fates in his fat, sweaty hands. Lance grimaced at him. He was trying not to think about Arastoo's recent warning, but his sweaty collar told the tale of his recent attempt to flee reality.

Karl began, "Booth and Brennan—they don't care much for psychology, do they?" He smirked, as if this was a hilarious revelation.

Sweets pursed his lips and replied, "They value psychology when they feel it's relevant to their lives." Was that entirely true? Lance didn't care. He hated this guy.

"Well, what insights can you give me into their partnership? They appear to argue a lot and have little in common, as far as I can tell. I think their partnership is actually destructive to one another."

Lance laughed bitterly to himself. He thought about how Hodgins had once asked him if he'd gotten his degree on the internet and felt like administering that one liner to this hack. But he restrained himself.

"Actually, after working with them for several years, I believe their partnership to be extremely productive not only for them, but for the Jeffersonian and the FBI. Their peculiar dynamic is one of the most beautifully synchronized I've ever witnessed between two people. They are the definition of a well-functioning partnership."

Lance was afraid he'd revealed too much of his admiration for his coworkers, but he believed every word he'd said. If the Booth-Brennan partnership was currently strained, it was because they needed gentle guidance through recent difficult events.

Lance pondered their problems in silent reverie. Brennan wasn't questioning Booth's relevance in her life, but her own role as a forensics expert. She was tired of dealing in death day in and day out. She had gotten in touch with the deepest core of her own humanity and it had burned her. She was very sensitive to her emotions and didn't have enough experience managing them, given her devotion to logic. She had made progress, sure, but the Gravedigger case had proven a setback.

On Booth's end, the agent was still reeling from his realization that he would have to move on from Brennan despite his abiding love for her. This was no easy feat, but Sweets was very impressed with Booth's maturity and serenity so far. Lance's chest hurt every time he thought about Booth these days.

Jode was smirking some more and finally said, "Andrew informed me you'd gotten close to your patients. I don't think you understand them as well as you think you do, _kid_."

Lance pushed back his chair in quiet, restrained fury. "Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan have taught me more about creating a workable partnership in two years than you've probably learned in a lifetime. You shouldn't tamper with them."

Sweets moved to leave, when Jode said seriously, "They need help, Dr. Sweets. Whether you see it or not."

Lance left. Oh, he saw it all right. But there were some wounds only time would heal…and then, maybe not even time.

* * *

Hodgins opened the door to the visitation room in which Zack sat very upright, his hands folded meticulously. Same old Zack, Hodgins thought, except that Zack's hair was longer and he had put on some weight. Perhaps it was the mysterious medication. Somehow with his doughier face, Zack looked even younger and more vulnerable than usual.

Hodgins fought a pang of misery.

"Hey, man," he began in greeting.

"Hello, Hodgins. I am surprised to see you. I haven't had any visitors for awhile, but I've now seen four of the Jeffersonian team in two days, if you include Dr. Sweets." Zack noted this with a blank expression. He was just marking the facts.

Hodgins wanted to reach out and touch his friend, but he felt like his hands were bound to his sides by invisible restraints. This place sucked a man a dry in mere minutes.

"I've been meaning to come by for a long time. I've been really…things have been…" With each new sentence Hodgins tried to start, Zack lifted his eyebrows in confusion.

"You are afraid to tell me something?" Zack said with penetrating insight that scared Hodgins. It had been too long since he'd seen Zack. He barely knew him anymore.

"Angela and I got married, Zack!" he blurted impulsively.

Zack's eyes widened. "Oh."

"Oh? Is that all you have to say?"

"Congratulations," Zack said and folded his arms.

"You're hurt," Hodgins guessed.

Zack turned to the tiny rectangular window, far above human reach. "No. Why should I be hurt?"

Hodgins had deeply wounded his friend. He could tell, whether or not Zack was willing to admit it.

"I'm really sorry. I wish you could have been there. It happened spontaneously in jail—it just happened! Poof! We weren't together, and then suddenly we were married."

"I'm not feeling well, Hodgins, can you get the guard? I need to go now," Zack said so unexpectedly and adamantly that Hodgins instantly complied.

As Hodgins lumbered moodily out of McKinley, he thought, Zack doesn't forgive me. I abandoned him, and I don't deserve to be forgiven.

In passing, he noticed a woman with dirty blond hair, who looked to be in her mid-thirties or so. What made Hodgins stop and do a double take was her familiarity.

"Excuse me, do I know you?" The red-haired scientist asked abruptly.

The woman recoiled and pulled her delicate sweater about her shoulders. "No," she replied dismissively, more from reticence than rudeness, Hodgins noted. She was very soft spoken and had a kind of lilt to her voice, as if she were from the upper Midwest.

Hodgins shrugged. "Sorry."

Then he had it—she resembled Zack. He whipped around but saw the flash of her snow white sweater, disappearing around the corner. Too late.


	7. Chapter 7

_G. G. Wyatt returns! Enough said!_

_Many thanks to followers and especially reviewers, who make my day! **Cassiopeia**-This woman may or may not be to the rescue...;) **D**-I volunteered in a nursing home for awhile. Interesting theory! I'm sure Sweets would be all for throwing Jode out onto the street. **Super Ario**-Thanks! I'm glad I could elicit some rage in you! ;) Yes, I'd love to see Hodgins and Zack reunited on the show. I'm kind of offended on Zack's behalf that no one has bothered to tell him Hodgela are married in canon. Well, maybe it just happened off screen. That's what fics are for! **Peanutmeg**-As I said in my PM, I think you are correct. That's definitely our Bones; she should process a little more with Booth before she speaks. This chapter will deal with that! **RT**-Not enough Sweets for the fangirls? No, I kid. Your comment about BB getting under Jode's skin reminds me of a comment from Sweets in therapy: "What, did you two plan this?" And Bones' response of "Paranoia!" :D **Greytune**-Glad I could peak your interest! Thank you for the kind compliment._

* * *

It was 11 pm and Gordon Gordon Wyatt's restaurant was winding down for the night. He'd agreed to meet Booth and Brennan for a late drink when Booth had sounded positively desperate to see him on the phone. Booth had mentioned that his distress had something to do with Dr. Sweets, which Gordon found quite odd and troubling. But there was no sense anticipating the worst. Here were Booth and Brennan now.

Brennan, who was attired in a black and gold-dusted pashmina and billowy black pants, held his hand briefly in greeting and flashed her straight white teeth. She was a beautiful woman. Booth looked incredibly somber despite his partner's radiance.

"Well hello, illustrious crime fighting twosome! It's been quite some time. Shall I rustle us up an appetizer or three? The truffles are truly brilliant, and far too expensive for…Agent Booth to afford!" Wyatt chuckled. Brennan—she was gorgeous _and_ rich. The fates did not dole out life's jewels equally.

"No thank you, Dr. Wyatt," Brennan said confidently. "We'd prefer to drink!"

Booth nodded.

"Well, this seems more of a heavy cocktail occasion, am I right? Judging by the expression on Agent Booth's face, that is," Wyatt replied. "You'll find this gin positively scrumptious."

Once three strong drinks that looked exactly like water were set before the trio, Booth began speaking like the bartender had opened the tap of his mouth. Anxious words gushed forth.

"We found out yesterday that Sweets was in an institution. A mental hospital! Can you believe that? I mean, what are we supposed to do?"

Gordon was surprised, but then again, not shocked. He processed the information for a bit. "Was he committed or did he check himself in?"

Brennan offered, "I got the sense from Zack that Sweets had maybe entered of his own free will." She looked surprised at herself for not only having read someone's tone but then having based a conjecture upon it.

Wyatt smiled. "Making progress, are we, Dr. Brennan? Well, if that was indeed the case, my first guess is Dr. Sweets sought to protect himself from attempting to take his own life."

"Suicide?" Booth asked, his mouth agape. Again, he thought: that could have been me.

"Well to _prevent_ suicide, yes. Dr. Sweets would have been of age if he indeed committed himself and would therefore have already been involved in his psychological studies. So it would make sense for him to seek serious intervention if he feared his life was in danger."

Booth and Bones processed this in silence.

"Now this is all speculation, mind you, based on a presumption by Dr. Brennan, no less. But I must confess, I do believe based on my readings of Dr. Sweets' work that he suffers from depression."

"Sweets? But he's so jolly most of the time. I mean, he makes Bones look like a sourpuss," Booth attempted to joke—a defense mechanism.

"I'm not a sour—I've always hated that colloquialism," Brennan snapped touchily.

"Dr. Sweets may uphold a cheerful veneer rather like your insistence on underselling your intellect, Agent Booth, or your devotion to rationality, Dr. Brennan." They both responded with indignant looks of denial. "I sense that it requires effort on his part, maybe a great deal at times. I don't mean to suggest that he doesn't have a sunny and energetic side, but rather that there is more to Dr. Sweets than meets the eye. More than people give him credit for, I dare say."

"So Sweets is depressed and suicidal?" Booth asked dismissively. He said it more to be corrected than anything else.

Wyatt rolled his eyes a little. "I'm merely guessing, but I'm saying Dr. Sweets struggles with depression and may have had a harder time handling it in his youth. You saw the relics of his tortured past written clearly on his back, Dr. Brennan. You are most definitely not the only one who has seen his scars. Dr. Sweets must deal with the reminder of his trauma everyday. I might remind you both—sitting there with doey eyes—that he, in fact, does a very good job of managing his pain, considering you never would have know about it if Dr. Brennan hadn't ripped the very shirt off his back." Wyatt delivered this last part with a scolding tone.

He continued, "Now I happen to know for a fact that Dr. Sweets relied on his kindly adoptive parents to help him through his adolescence, and it's clear to me that in adulthood he is relying on you."

Booth hung his head in dismay. "So what do we do?"

Wyatt said, "I think the answer to that question is clear to you, Agent Booth."

"What? I tell him I know about his past, but it's ok? I still want to be his friend?" Booth asked in disbelief and horror at the prospect of so much sharing.

Dr. Wyatt stuck out his bottom lip as if to say, Exactly, carry on!

Even his facial expressions were British, Booth thought in annoyance.

Brennan asked, "What about me? Should I talk to him, too?"

Wyatt was already pushing his chair back from the bar, as he downed the last of his gin. "Not in the same way, no. I think you have a different role in his life."

"And what is that?" she asked eagerly.

"You're making so much progress in your social interactions, I wouldn't dream of telling you what to do, Dr. Brennan."

She exhaled loudly in annoyance and looked at Booth for help. He only shrugged and looked away.

* * *

As Booth was taking his partner home, he tried not to look at her. Attired as she was in black, she looked seductive and moody. Her lips were set in a pout and her green eyes shone ponderously.

Booth cleared his throat from five minutes of disuse. "Bones? Something on your mind?"

Brennan shifted away from Booth a little in the passenger seat. "Do you remember when I thought Miss Wick was cheating on Sweets and everyone asked me not to say anything, but I did and it hurt him?" she said in a rush. Booth instantly sensed where this was going.

"Bones you didn't say anything about Sweets' hospitalization, did you? You didn't!" he called sharply, glancing at her confessional expression as he drove. "You did! Oh no."

Conveniently, Booth arrived in front of Bones' apartment building and cut the engine. He turned slowly to face her.

"Who did you tell?"

"Everyone. Cam, Angela, Hodgins—"

"Hodgins!" Booth interrupted, smacking his forehead.

"Arastoo…"

Booth's eyes bulged a little. "Bones…we have to tell Sweets. Or does he already know?"

"No, I don't think he does. What, we have to call him _now_?" Bones looked petrified as Booth pulled out his phone and tried to snatch it away.

Booth waved her hand off and dialed Sweets, but the psychologist didn't pick up.

"Hello, you've reached Dr. Lance Sweets. If you are a patient and this is an emergency, please hang up and dial 911. Please leave me a message, and I will return your call as soon as possible."

Beep!

"Sweets, it's me. I've got to talk to you first thing tomorrow, ok? Don't go to the Jeffersonian before you hear from me. Don't…just don't go anywhere. Except your office. It's really important! I'll see you tomorrow!" Booth said in a rush.

"Well that was over dramatic," Brennan said, feeling incredibly guilty.

"I can't believe you told people! I want Sweets to know he's walking into the fire, all right? He's already having trouble at work lately. Ugh, Bones!" Booth was shaking his head, but then he noticed something that made him cease his tirade instantly. There were tears in the anthropologist's eyes. She was making an obvious effort to keep them from slipping out onto her cheeks.

"Hey, Bones, look. I'm sorry. It's going to be ok. Sweets will forgive you."

"I didn't intend to injure him. I don't want to hurt people; it just happens."

"Yeah, we all hurt people sometimes."

"Will…will Sweets still want to be my friend?" she asked with such endearing innocence that Booth pulled her in for a hug, despite the awkwardness of being seat-belted into position.

"Of course he will." Booth paused while Brennan wiped her eyes. "You ok, Bones?"

Brennan nodded and said shakily, "I just don't feel like I quite know myself anymore. After being on the stand in Heather Taffet's trial and using emotion instead of evidence to convince the jury…I'm still not certain it was judicious of me to become close to so many people and grow so sentimental. I feel unstable—off balance."

Booth looked seriously at Bones. "You just have to trust me when I tell you it's worth it. You just have to trust me, Bones. _Trust me_." He kept repeating this because Brennan appeared to be fighting a fresh wave of tears that made her eyes shimmer like the sea.


	8. Chapter 8

_Thank you all for the response to chapter 7! I'm glad to see that Wyatt is a resounding favorite with so many Bones fans. :)_

_**Vtdrew2**-I'm glad you've liked it so far. The pacing of the end of season 5 was too fast for me, so hence the need for fics to fill in the gaps! But granted, I would relish Bones eps that were 2 or 3 times as long as they are. **Peanutmeg**-Thanks as usual! :) Booth has a lot of people who count on him, does he not? I wonder if he gets exhausted from time to time...well, you'll see where I've landed on that one! **Jasadin**-Thank you for the reviews! Not wanting to stop reading is a good excuse for a withheld review! :) Hah-I love your declaration that the world needs to appreciate Sweets! So true. And thank you for your special compliments on chapter 7-I think I enjoyed writing it the most up until that point. **D**-Hah! You know, people just don't use the word drake often enough! You are awesome. :D You are so right-Sweets has a giant heart, and for whom is it bigger than BB? **Mysterious Jedi**-Yep, I think we all know that Sweets isn't going to call it quits on Brennan. There's too much love there. Thanks for the review! **RT**-You know that saying I got someone's voice right is the best compliment a fic writer could ever get! Awww. Thanks! There's so much Booth-love for you in this story. More on the way! **SFT**-As I said, so glad you're back from vacay! And with the sweetest reviews! :D You are too kind. *hugs*  
_

_

* * *

_

"Zack, you seem upset."

Sweets was leaning cheek in hand, staring at his patient. It was only 8:30 in the morning. He had not obeyed Booth's strange message from last night to stay put in his office. In fact, he was trying to avoid both the FBI and the Jeffersonian, given the information that had recently leaked out about his past. He didn't even feel much like seeing Booth and figured Zack needed him more than anyone right now. Maybe it wasn't the most healthy impulse, but whenever Lance felt that his own problems became unbearable, he ran to assist the nearest person in need…to help anyone but himself.

"Where is Dr. Harper? I thought this was his day," Zack asked, looking singularly exhausted.

Sweets was concerned that Zack wasn't sleeping well in the hospital. Lately, he always appeared dead tired. Sleep deprivation makes fast work of a person's sanity.

"I thought you didn't want to see Dr. Harper anymore?" Sweets asked a little hurt.

"I didn't! I am glad you are here."

Sweets nodded thanks.

"You want to tell me what's bothering you?"

"Hodgins."

Sweets raised his eyebrows. He was finding it hard to concentrate on Zack at this moment and willed himself to listen.

"Hodgins and Angela got married. I wasn't even aware that they were back together. I feel this strange burning in my chest—it's almost painful. I don't understand why. Perhaps I'm suffering from acid reflux."

Lance sighed. "I don't think it's reflux, Zack. You're hurt." Lance shifted a little and began to explain, "As I understand it, the marriage happened spontaneously, and they kept it a secret from all of us for awhile. It makes sense that you would feel pain: Hodgins is your best friend, and you're trapped in here where you can't be an active part of his life."

Zack nodded, "But it was my faulty logic that got me here. I must atone for my error."

Granted Sweets had a shorter fuse today than usual, but this response irked him. "Zack, it's time for you to put intellect aside and admit that something more fundamental about you resulted in your succumbing to an evil influence. It's _this_ flaw that we need to work on if you are to heal. You obviously have the IQ of a genius, but your lack of emotional intelligence is concerning." Lance paused, waiting for this to penetrate. Zack was looking a little blank. "You told me once that the reason you believed in Gormogon's logic—"

"The Master's logic—" Zack corrected.

"Whatever—was that it was worth sacrificing a few bad people for the greater good of humankind—a kind of 'kill Hitler' argument, correct?"

"Hitler?"

"Right. If you had the opportunity to take Hitler out then you would, because millions of Jews, Catholics, homosexuals, etc., would be spared."

"Time travel is technically impossible…But I understand your analogy."

"But who decides who is righteous and who is wicked—who lives and who dies? The 'Master'?" Sweets slung fierce air quotes into space. "He ate people! He made a self-indulgent ceremony of stamping out alleged malefactors. He was willing to harm anyone who got in the way of this goal—even children. Or you, Zack—do you get to arbitrate good and evil? If so, I don't envy you the task. This is why humans create religions."

"You're saying I perceived myself as a kind of god," Zack deduced.

Lance inclined his chin. "I'm saying you pride yourself on resisting the 'foolish' human impulse to believe in God, but you have acted every bit as much the zealot as...I don't know, one of the Knights Templar!" Lance finished, reaching for a suitable example with his outstretched arm. He was impassioned.

"Of the Crusades?"

"Yeah, of the Crusades or as a member of any of those secret societies you loathe so much." Lance glanced at his watch. "Time's up, Zack." Lance stood up. He didn't understand why he had gotten so upset with Zack.

"Dr. Sweets!" Zack called, stopping him. "My sister is in town from Michigan. You should expect a call from her in the next few days. I tried to explain my situation, but she seems displeased with my care—with you, because you're young."

Lance nodded sadly. "I'm used to people thinking the worst of me, Zack. I'll take care of it. You just focus on getting better."

"I'm not sick—"

"Zack," Lance tried not to sound too provoked. "This is a mental problem. You can beat it. You just need to try."

* * *

At the same time as this meeting was occurring, Agent Booth was leaving his apartment. Booth had two things on his agenda that he really did not want to do: talk to Sweets and see Zack. The sun hung shrilly in the morning sky, abrasive to the naked eye. It seemed to mock the agent, who trudged the pavement, narrowly avoiding some dog excrement.

"Damn people who don't pick up after their dog," he muttered, then seeing a child was passing, he smiled and waved uncomfortably.

Booth knew he had told Sweets to stay put this morning, but after calling Sweets' office and getting no answer, he decided on the lesser of two evils—seeing Zack. For one thing, he was afraid to confront Sweets, because the psychologist might react emotionally. Booth didn't handle the touchy side of his friend very well. But more importantly, he loathed the prospect of learning the truth about Sweets' past. What if Sweets needed something from him that he didn't know how to give?

Still, he knew Wyatt was right. Sweets would be relying on him, and he didn't let friends down. He was Seeley Booth.

The worst or best thing for Booth happened, depending on how one looked at it. When he went to see Zack, Sweets was already there counseling his patient. This surprised Booth, since he was under the impression Sweets didn't meet with Zack too often anymore. Perhaps the strings Booth had pulled to get Dr. Harper off Zack's back had worked. He'd asked Caroline to take care of it, and it appeared she had. That tough old broad. She knew how to work the system.

Booth waited on a chair in a long, mustard-colored hall that made him feel a bit queasy. Just as Booth was thinking he'd have to put his head between his legs like a pregnant Rebecca at the scent of lobster, Sweets emerged looking weak and drawn.

"Hi Sweets!" Booth cried in exaggerated greeting. Sweets lifted a suspicious eyebrow. "I thought I told you to stay in your office this morning! I…Why the long face?" Booth asked, afraid of the answer.

"Oh Zack just told me his sister is in town and wants to talk to me. She's not very pleased with Zack's care. Go figure," Lance said, distractedly. "I'm too young, how could I possibly be smart enough to counsel Zack, blah blah. Remind me again why I'm a therapist?"

"I've never understood," Booth replied genuinely. It seemed like a terrible job to him, but it was evident to him that even at this moment, Sweets loved his job. "Well, like I said on the phone, we really need to talk!"

Sweets was surprised that Booth didn't just manhandle him into a corner like he normally did when he wanted to discuss something. But Lance already had a sense of what Booth might want to discuss thanks to his message last night. He threw up all his defenses and locked himself down for the impending assault.

"Sweets, don't look like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you're preparing for me to beat you up or something!" Booth bellowed, annoyed.

Lance sighed, "Maybe we can discuss…whatever it is you want to discuss, outside in the gardens."

Within several minutes Lance had led Booth to a modest path through greenery. The garden was just coming up—there were lavender bushes and sweet pea vines strung on lattices. That crazy sun was still beating down, making it hard to believe it was spring. But the garden was not bad for a mental institution. The two men walked until they came to a fork in the road. Sweets looked at his companion as if for direction. Booth obliged him in both senses.

"Everyone at the Jeffersonian knows about your past, Sweets," he began, suggesting the left path with a wave of his arm.

Lance laughed bitterly at the absurdity of Booth's statement. "They don't know the half of it, Agent Booth."

"Then why don't you tell me, so I stop making it worse than it is?" Booth asked quickly, since he still wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Booth," Lance said familiarly, "I haven't even told Daisy about this."

Booth was surprised. "Why not? You love her, right? I don't know why, but you seem to."

"I've worked so hard to construct my life of choices I've made, not things that have happened to me. It's really difficult to explain. I'd rather not. And you know Daisy—her reactions to things like that…she just wants to coddle. It doesn't help. And yes, I love her, so lay off!" Lance added the last part, feeling hurt by Booth's rejection of Daisy as a suitable match. After all, he was marrying her. He wanted Booth's blessing, once he decided to tell him, that is. Lance was even considering having Booth stand up with him on his wedding day.

"Well, you and I both know I'm no coddler. So?" Booth continued.

"So…let's have a seat on that bench, and I'll tell you why I was in a place like this for a short time. There are things I can't tell you, but I'll give you the peace of mind you crave."

"Peace of mind?" Booth said irritably.

"Yeah—that I'm not crazy. Isn't that what you want to hear?" Lance stared at Booth fiercely and then gestured toward the empty stone bench. Honey bees hummed mournfully.

The men sat.

"All right, let me show you something," said Sweets mysteriously.

* * *

Meanwhile, Brennan and Hodgins were having breakfast at the Royal Diner.

Brennan was picking blueberries out of Hodgins' granola across the table without having asked for his permission. Hodgins smiled to himself.

"So. I went to see Zack yesterday," he offered.

Brennan bit down so hard that she split her lip. "Owww!" she dabbed at her wound woefully with her napkin.

"Yeah, I told him me and Ange got married. He seemed pretty pissed off. I don't know. What do you do when you get married and your best friend's in a mental institution? Are there rules for that kind of thing?"

"You're asking _me_ for advice?" Brennan asked surprised and openly pleased.

"No, not really," Hodgins admitted. "I'm just telling you."

"Oh." Brennan looked crestfallen.

"_Do_ you have advice?" Hodgins asked, giving her a chance.

"Dr. Sweets would probably say that you should go and see him on a regular basis. Demonstrate to him that he is still an important part of your life."

"Yeah, he would. That's great advice, Brennan! You've learned a lot in therapy! Gee. Maybe I _do_ need counseling."

"I don't recommend it. It's pesky at its best. Inane at its worst."

"Brennan…give me a high five!" Hodgins exclaimed in spontaneous jubilation.

"What? Why?" Brennan asked startled, eying Hodgins' palm hovering inches from her face.

"Because…you know, I'm proud of you! Giving advice! Tending to your flock."

"My flock?" she blinked.

"Go on, give it to me!" Hodgins re-extended his hand.

Brennan, who had finished Hodgins' blueberries, stood up and gave him a hearty high five.

"All right! You go, girl."

Brennan shook her head in wonder but also pleasure. Maybe she wasn't such a bad friend after all. She suddenly felt compelled to find Sweets right away and apologize for her earlier indiscretion.


	9. Chapter 9

_I'm really bad! I'm supposed to be working, but every time I start to think, I come up with a new twist and turn for this story...so prepare for things to get twisty and turny very soon. Remember, in the world of McKinley, nothing is as it seems! Also, for this chapter I counsel patience: all will be revealed eventually._

_**AM Katy**-Woah, you came back with a vengeance! In a good way! Thanks so much for the many reviews! :D Yes, Zack did need a dose of truth. And to answer your question, Sweets just gets tired of having people assume the worst of him, since he is a young therapist. But it's important to note, Sweets is highly sensitive about this and is probably reading more into what Zack said about his sister than he should. ;) **Jasadin** and **Greytune**-Thank you kindly. You will indeed hear more of Sweets' story...soon enough. ;P **Peanutmeg**-Your defensiveness of Sweets always delights me! :) I think Booth really cares about his little duckling._ _**SFT**-Hodgins is a go-to guy for the comedy! I'm in complete agreement of your assessment of Sweets, but he will be forced to open up soon. Of course, you can imagine he won't relish it. Thanks for your review! **RT**-You're not being graded on the swiftness of your reviews, don't worry. ;) Poor thing-I know you are finishing up your summer torture session-I mean, summer session-this week! Yay! This means more updates for your rabid fans (namely me). Thanks for your compliments on the Sweets-Zack part. I worked my tail off trying to capture what two geniuses would say to each other. Re the Daisy thing-well you know how I feel about that! ;) And I agree on your assessment of the Hodgennan dynamic. (Sorry, couldn't resist.) I think this is why she proclaims her love for him in the finale-one of THE most precious Bones moments of all time IMO. :D Ahead, a VERY Boothy chapter for you...  
_

* * *

In the gardens of McKinley, Booth and Sweets prepared to part ways with a promise: Sweets would tell the Jeffersonian team the truth about his institutionalization at their personnel meeting next week. Booth felt that it would be best for everyone to hear the real story from the source, given the injurious hearsay that had been afoot. Booth's heart ached for the kid, who looked so miserable at his side on the cold stone bench.

He gripped Sweets' shoulder firmly and said, "No one's going to think any less of you. You know how I know that?"

Lance just looked at Booth.

"Because _I_ don't. You're a lot tougher than you look, Sweets," Booth said, chuckling and shaking his head. He released Sweets' shoulder and slugged him a little in the arm.

"You're going to talk to Zack about Iraq?" Lance changed the subject, hope in his tone.

"Yeah, I mean, I'll try. I can't promise anything will come of it. I never really got Zack, you know? He's so…squinty." Booth looked like a kid who had just tasted something sour.

Lance laughed softly. "Yeah, but you do know Dr. Brennan. She and Zack share a similar defense mechanism against the five-act tragedy of life."

Booth looked annoyed by the literary reference.

"What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties…in apprehension how like a god!" Sweets quoted, partially to push Booth's buttons and partially because it was apt. The seriousness of their previous conversation was duly disarmed by Booth's disgust.1

"Get out of here, Smartass," Booth responded with supreme annoyance.

Lance shrugged. "Hamlet." He began to walk off.

"Sweets," Booth called.

The young psychologist looked back, his eyelids heavy.

"Remember what I said."

"Which part?"

"The part where I told you that no one is going to abandon you this time."

* * *

1. William Shakespeare, _Hamlet_, Act 2, scene 2, 303–312.

* * *

Booth was sitting across from Zack, trying to figure out where to begin. He knew his team loved Zack, despite the fact that he had colluded with a cannibal. His feelings toward Zack were warm but more ill defined. As Sweets had implied, Booth did see some of Bones in him. Once Booth had gotten to know Zack, he had come to believe that the kid really meant well. Zack was a man of principles—loyalty, wisdom, and the pursuit of truth. It might seem difficult to reconcile these qualities with the criminal before him, but when Booth looked into Zack's eyes, he still saw that man. Booth knew that not every human was cut out for war; he had seen all too many good men break. People broke in different ways—some turned to alcohol, some to self harm, some to madness. There were a million ways that war could tear a person apart.

_The Gulf War—Booth is in the desert, taking aim. Great billows of gritty sand rise up off the dunes like whirling dervishes. Booth is temporarily mesmerized and distracted from his task. Some trick of nature has made it impossible to hear the combat Booth can see in the sky—white-yellow explosions—beyond the eerie mounds of dust. Acoustic shadow, he has heard this soundless effect called. The sand appears to creep toward the humans below, hungry to devour them. How many bodies will make those dunes their graveyard? Sand seeps into Booth's pores and makes his throat itch, his lungs heavy. He twitches and fires. A man falls—a human being he has never met, will never know. A man with a family, a camel, a modest home filled with the scents of cinnamon, coffee, and onions. Booth hasn't been able to smell in awhile. Too much sand._

Zack broke into Booth's reverie. "Agent Booth?"

Booth started talking to erase the memories. Even he was surprised at what came out of his mouth. It was as if he had been rehearsing this speech for years.

"Zack, war messes with your mind. It takes the worst act a human can commit against another human—murder—and sanctifies it. It turns your values upside down. I'm not proud of taking people's lives but I did it, because I believed in something. What do you believe?"

"I…I don't understand the question," Zack stammered. He was deeply unsettled by this serious Booth before him.

"There are certain things worth fighting for, even worth killing for. Sure some of this is about oil, about money—always has been. But you have to find the goodness in it—find the cause worth sacrificing for. Because you can never get the sand out of your system."

"What?"

"Don't interrupt. Every single person I've cut down, I remember, and I've said my apologies to them, to their families, to God a thousand times. But I can carry on because I believe in forgiveness; I believe in standards of right and wrong. What you did was wrong, Zack. I know the Middle East—I know how it can get to you—that heat and dust worms into your brain and can drive a soldier crazy."

"I wasn't really a soldier."

"You _were_ a soldier, serving the greater good, but you got lost at some point. You need to find a way back."

Zack stared for a very long time into space. "What if I don't know how?"

"Zack, you're the smartest person I've ever met. You have the smartest shrink I've ever met. And you've got the best damn family that anyone could ever hope for."

"My family in Michigan?" Zack looked bewildered.

"No, Zack. Your family at the Jeffersonian."

"I should forgive Hodgins," Zack replied quietly.

Booth shrugged. He had no idea what that was about, but he sensed Zack understood him.

* * *

Unfortunately, Booth's day didn't end there. He was stuck in a session with Karl Jode and Bones. Booth was heavily fatigued from his intensely emotional day. He could hardly focus on the pasty man asking them questions, let alone execute his defensive strategy against this moron. He was really relying on Bones to rescue him.

Jode seemed to have a perpetual smirk on his face. "Dr. Brennan, you appear very uncomfortable. Do you need to use the restroom?" His jowls flapped as he talked.

Brennan had been shifting in her seat. She was very eager to find Sweets and make amends. In fact, she had the sense that every second that ticked by might make him less likely to forgive her. She knew this was irrational, but being a prisoner in Dr. Jode's office wasn't helping.

She was supremely insulted by his comment and snapped, "I'm not a child. If I need to use the restroom, I will excuse myself!"

"There is no need to be hostile," he replied smugly. "I'm just here to help. The sooner you tell me why you are anxious, the sooner you will be free of these sessions."

Brennan considered the truth in this and replied, "I'm just anxious to speak with a friend of mine. I unwittingly hurt him."

"And might this friend be Agent Booth?"

"No, it most certainly is not!" Brennan huffed. There really was no point in speaking to this imbecile. Booth was no help—he looked vaguely comatose staring out the window. "Booth," she said irritably, "what are you doing?"

Booth cleared his throat. "What? Nothing. I'm really tired, can we do this another time, Jode?"

"Dr. Jode."

Booth snorted.

"Fine, I will release you," Jode said, "if you answer me one question. How long have you two been engaged in a romantic relationship in violation of FBI regulations?"

Booth flew from his seat, as Bones physically tried to restrain him. She wasn't fast enough. Booth had crossed the room and was holding Jode close to his face by the collar, shaking with rage.

"We have _never_ been in a romantic relationship. I know little weasels like you think you have all the power, but believe me when I say that neither me or Bones will ever, _ever_ set foot in this office again." He threw Jode violently back into his chair and tenderly but firmly grabbed the startled Bones' arm, pulling her our the door, down the hallway, and into the safe haven of the elevator.

"Thanks for doing that, Booth," she said gratefully. She noticed him pushing an elevator button that did not signal that they were leaving the building. "Where are we going?"

"To Sweets. We need his help, because I meant what I said in there. The next time I see that pathetic scumbag, I might just kill him!" Booth fumed.

Brennan was pleased they were going to Sweets' office. That was exactly where she needed to be right now.


	10. Chapter 10

_Hearty thanks to those reviewing and following!_

_**D**—I had to put my Viking helmet on for Weasel Stomping Day. We'll see if I take it back out for Andrew. I can't shake this image you're putting in my head of Booth with a menagerie of baby animals to tend to. :D **Peanutmeg**—You're like Sweets? Well then I like you even more! *hugs and pinches cheeks* As for glossing over Sweets' problems on the show *cough, finale, cough*, amen, sister. But I guess "Bones" is technically about Bones, so we will just have to read/write fic to attend more thoroughly to our Baby Duck's feelings! ;D **SFT**—Thanks for the Booth appreciation. I'm sure he would pick up some Hank phrases and mannerisms, don't you think? I just had to throw in that Jode scene for everyone who was hating his guts. :) **RT**—Thanks again for this review that made my day! We've already talked it out__ (but not hugged it out) so *hugs* and thanks again! **Vtdrew2**—Thanks so much. Yes, the egotistical side of me would like to see this come to life on my tv screen as well! For a crazy Sweets fangirl like me that would be a whole lotta Sweets air time! ;)_

* * *

Lance was sitting in his office at the FBI, pretending to do some paperwork. He was thinking about his agreement with Booth to tell everyone at the Jeffersonian what they wanted to know. He wasn't in the habit of revealing much about his past to anyone, and he had to admit that he was frightened. But at the same time, he felt better after talking to Booth than he had in the past few days. Of the Jeffersonian team, Booth was probably the least into sharing, but he had been very accepting of Lance's story. Besides, Lance had the sense that he had already told the most important person the truth. It would now be easier to divulge his past to the others. Upon reflection, Lance found it strange that he still felt no particular impulse to talk to Daisy about any of this.

On the topic of Daisy, it had been troubling him that he had not made the occasion to confess his engagement to his friends. He had been telling himself the right moment simply hadn't arisen. But now he wondered if there was something else preventing him. If he was more comfortable sharing his past with Booth than his chosen life partner, what did this mean?

One of the administrative assistants from Sweets' floor poked her head in.

"Hi, Dr. Sweets. Sorry to disturb you. There's a Sheila Addy here to see you."

"Ok, thanks, Becky. Please tell her she can come in," Lance said, inwardly sighing. Here it comes, he thought.

Sheila was quite tall and her sandy blond hair cascaded down to the middle of her back. She was big boned and hearty but clearly very shy. She had a bit of a stoop to her broad shoulders, and her body seemed to fold in on itself toward her chest…her rather large chest. Sweets tried not to stare, but she was quite voluptuous and pretty in a sun-kissed way. He could see some of Zack in her facial features.

He crossed the room and held out his hand to her. "I'm Dr. Lance Sweets, your brother's therapist. Ms. Sheila Addy?"

"Yes, sir. I'm pleased to meet you," she said in a barely audible but polite voice. Her lilt was infectious.

"Well, please have a seat." Lance was in professional mode—he had his shoulders back and was stretched to his full height. He tiptoed around his more enthusiastic vocabulary choices (like 'awesome' and 'wicked') and attempted to convince this woman that he had Zack's treatment under control, which even _he_ doubted at this moment. With Zack it had always been one step forward, two steps back.

"I had a few questions about Zack's treatment," the mouse-like voice chirped.

"Please," Lance gestured openly. "As far as I know, you are the first of Zack's family to come to the area since he was committed. I'm sure you're aware of the rules of patient privacy, but I'm happy to answer whatever questions I can."

"Yes, I'm the first to visit. In fact, the family doesn't know I'm here. They…they're not sure how to deal with the fact that one of their own is a murderer." Her eyes looked watery, or was it a trick of the light?

Lance softened toward her. She was a woman in need of compassion. "Would you like some water or coffee, Ms. Addy?"

"Sheila. And no, thank you. Zack mentioned being medicated by a Dr. Harper?" She had completely collected herself again.

"Dr. Harper, a psychiatrist at the institution, had Zack prescribed an antidepressant. He didn't respond well to it, so he's not on anything at the moment. Although, he didn't look very well to me today when I saw him. We're going to be evaluating the best course of action with him very soon."

"He's not sleeping much. He can only take naps during the day. At night—nothing."

"Yeah, I noticed he looked haggard. If you leave me with a contact number I can keep you apprised of where we go treatment-wise—with Zack's permission, of course."

"Please don't take this the wrong way, but my brother's a genius and you seem a bit _inexperienced_. Is he making progress?"

Lance had been on his defensive game, but Sheila actually seemed pretty fair to him. He tried not to take her concern personally.

"Zack has made slow progress. To be honest, some days I feel we have come very far, and others I feel we have significantly backtracked. The environment of the institution is taxing on him, because he has such a sharp mind, as you point out." Sweets cleared his throat. "If you're worried about my qualifications, I can list them. I have multiple doctorates, publications, fellowships, and honors…but more importantly, I really care about Zack. I worked at the Jeffersonian with him before he was committed. Zack's friends in DC are counting on me to help him. Believe me when I say, I do not want to let Zack or anyone else down."

Sheila nodded. "My family thinks that the Jeffersonian is what turned Zack bad. He's always been odd but never violent."

Lance frowned. "I know that from your perspective that may seem reasonable, but the Jeffersonian provided Zack with a loving, nurturing environment in which to grow as a scholar and human being. The seed of the problem was within Zack himself, and it fell on fertile ground in Iraq."

"But this Dr. Brennan. I've seen her on TV…she seems very cold and calculating."

Sweets tried not to become angry. "Actually, what you've seen of Dr. Brennan is merely her exterior. She's worked very hard to rise to the top of her field, but at heart, she is a generous and compassionate person, who truly cares about Zack. If you are in doubt, simply ask your brother."

She nodded again, accepting. "I'd like to tell you something about Zack. I'm not sure it'll be helpful, but…I came all the way here. I might as well try to do some good."

"Yes?"

"My family's rather large. I mean, there are eight of us kids. In my family, you put your head down, do your work, and shut your mouth. We're a working class bunch from a sheltered, small town, you know? Simple folk—protective of each other. I don't know where Zack came from, with his big brain and all, but he had a lot of trouble getting attention as a kid. I think he needed it, because he had so much to offer the world and no outlet."

Lance nodded.

"I don't quite know how to explain this, but from ages 12 through roughly 18, Zack started complaining that he was ill. He stayed home from school all the time with stomach aches. It cost my parents a fortune to bring him to so many doctors. In fact, I took on an after school job to help pay the medical bills."

Lance furrowed his brow. "Did the doctors ever find anything wrong?"

"No! I mean, he had his appendix out, because they thought it might be that. They even checked his pancreas. Nothing was wrong! But he insisted he was sick…One day when he was 16 and staying home from school, supposedly in horrible pain, I saw him jumping on the bed while reading a physics book. I was so angry that I told on him—told Mom he had been lying! She didn't let him stay home after that, though he continued to say he wasn't feeling well."

The wheels in Lance's head were turning. "Have you ever heard of Factitious Disorder or Münchausen Syndrome?"

"No."

"It's when a person feigns symptoms of mental or physical illness to gain the attention of medical staff. It's sort of like being a hypochondriac, except those with Münchausen are aware they're dissembling. Often times they'll even harm themselves or take unnecessary medications to produce a resulting symptom. It's a serious and hard to treat mental disorder."

He waited for Sheila to take this in. Her pale eyes blinked rapidly.

"But Sheila, Zack hasn't exhibited any of the symptoms you're describing since I've known him," Sweets continued.

She nodded. "Yeah, he just sort of grew out of it when he went to college. I mean completely. It's like he made a decision to never seek that kind of attention again, and he just quit—cold turkey."

"Hm," Lance said pensively.

"I…I didn't know it was a real disorder. I thought he was just going through a lying phase."

"Don't feel bad. Mental problems that involve deceit are exceptionally difficult for loved ones to cope with."

"You know, after Zack moved away, he rarely came back to see us, rarely called. It's like he didn't really love us. That's why we don't visit. We're not bad people."

Sweets nodded. "Sheila, if _you_ ever need to talk, feel free to call me. Here's my cell number." Lance handed her his card, which she took reluctantly. "It's very stressful to have someone you love in Zack's position."

"I don't need help. My brother does. Thanks for your time, Dr. Sweets."

With that, Shelia Addy left.

"Woah," Sweets said aloud. "I did _not_ see that coming." Lance had some serious thinking to do.

* * *

"Sweets! We need your help!" Booth called, charging through the door of Sweets' office not five minutes later.

Lance glanced up from the _DSM-IV_, which he had been pouring over in an effort to understand Sheila's revelation to him. He noticed his stomach growling. It was nearly 8 pm, and he hadn't eaten yet today.

"You know I'm always happy to help, but can we talk over dinner? I haven't eaten all day." His stomach gurgled loudly in confirmation. He tossed the book aside.

"Sure. Founding Fathers or the Diner?" He asked this looking at Bones instead of Sweets, which annoyed Sweets a little.

"I think…the Diner. It's more comfortable. We have a lot to discuss," Brennan replied.

Sweets was vaguely intrigued by her statement.

* * *

Bones, Booth, and Sweets had assumed their usual perches at the Royal Diner. They had sat this way perhaps a hundred times. All three felt burdened and exhausted but also very comfortable in this setting and with each other.

Sweets was wolfing down a sandwich, pausing periodically to shove French fries into his mouth. He looked like a stray dog who had just wandered in from the wild. Booth and Bones waited politely, seeing how ravenous their friend was. They both picked at their food.

Lance looked up after awhile, his cheeks still somewhat full of food. "Somefing you wanted to disthus?" he asked, his speech impaired by fries.

"Sweets, didn't your mother teach you not to talk with your mouth full?"

Lance swallowed. "My mother was very much a lady, thank you."

Booth winced at the use of the past tense, hating to think of how alone Sweets was in the world.

"Now if we could only get you to act like a lady," Booth said, tossing a cherry tomato at Sweets from his plate, which quite to Booth's delight, Sweets caught in his mouth like a seal. Unfortunately, when Lance bit down the tomato juice and seeds squirted everywhere, ruining the finesse of the moment. Brennan ducked.

"You two are a bad influence on each other," she scolded, peering out from under the bunker of her hands.

For some reason, Lance took this as an enormous compliment and grinned from ear to ear. He wiped off the table where the red juice had splattered. Some had gotten on Booth's tie, and Booth was threatening to wipe it on Bones' sleeve, who was pawing him away in disgust. He scooped up some tomato on his finger and tried to squish it into her ear.

"Stooop! Booth!" Brennan whined.

Laughing, Lance said, "Did you two want to discuss something? I mean when you're done flirting." He hated to break the spell.

"Don't get fresh with me, Sweets!" Booth jokingly warned, shaking his finger at the psychologist.

Brennan spoke up, smiling. "Yes, Dr. Sweets. Booth exploded at Dr. Jode today! He actually went for the jugular. Literally," she reported as if she were commenting on the weather.

"Really? That's disturbing." It gave new symbolism to Booth's red-bespattered tie. "What happened?" Sweets asked Booth with a furrowed brow.

"I'd just had enough! He accused us of sleeping together in violation of FBI protocol, and I just had it!" Booth bellowed.

Sweets sighed. "You do realize you've made it infinitely more difficult for me to argue on your behalf. You'll appear out of control again, Booth. Like in the clown incident." Lance had heard from Dr. Wyatt that Booth had once shot the clown off an ice cream truck.

"That was justified, and so was this!"

Sweets looked seriously at Booth. "Yeah? Well, you'll probably be suspended." He paused. "I'd like to help. I will help. I think the best thing would be for me to speak to you both individually and then together."

"What? We don't need therapy. We need you to get us out of therapy."

"I propose that the only way to get you out of therapy is to get you to resolve the issues at the heart of the matter. Then I can explain to Andrew that your partnership has recovered. Even he will have to admit that it makes no sense for you two to see a psychologist you can't work with."

Booth and Brennan looked at each other—always the team, Lance marveled. If one agreed, the other would.

"Ok," said Booth.

"Fine," said Brennan.

"I've gotta go. You need a ride, Bones?" Booth said throwing his napkin on his plate decisively.

"Actually, if Dr. Sweets doesn't mind, I'd like to stay and talk to him for a moment, and perhaps _you_ could give me a ride?" she asked turning to Sweets.

"Sure, no problem."

Booth nodded and said his goodbyes.

Alone in the diner with Lance, Brennan began, "I must confess something. Zack told me and Booth that you were in a mental hospital—he thought we already knew. But then, I told the team. I shouldn't have done it. I'm sorry."

"Why did you tell them?" Lance replied, a bit shaken.

Brennan looked stymied by the question. "I'm not sure…perhaps I felt I couldn't process the information alone. We were talking about Zack at a meeting, and it just slipped out."

Lance sighed. "Well, that hurts to hear, but I forgive you."

"Why?"

"Why do I forgive you?" Sweets asked, almost smiling. "Because Dr. Brennan, we've known each other for a long time. I know you didn't intend to hurt me. Gossip is one of the oldest human problems in the book."

Brennan cringed at the G-word. "What about Zack? Do you forgive him too?"

"For telling you? Sure. Zack knows I'm…I'm close to you and Agent Booth. I believe that he did think you already knew. And besides, Zack's not thinking so clearly right now. He's having a difficult time."

After some thought, Lance went on, "Dr. Brennan, I used to be your therapist, and we've discussed some pretty personal things. I can see how you might think my personal life is fair game, too. But you have to be more careful with my feelings. I'm your coworker and your friend." He added insecurely, "Right?"

Dr. Brennan blinked her big green eyes, and for a moment, Lance was afraid that she would disagree.

"Yes," she said simply and honestly.

"I'd prefer it if I got to choose what you knew about me, but it just hasn't turned out that way. You know, it's not easy…certain things about me—people make assumptions. I've done everything in my power to become the opposite of what people expect. But it's just easier if they don't know some of the things I've struggled with," Lance rambled.

Brennan nodded. "I understand. But perhaps you are a bit too worried about how others perceive you. I think, you might give people more of a chance to be as generous with you as you are with them."

Lance's jaw dropped open. Boy, when she was right, she was right.


	11. Chapter 11

_Before reading this chapter—take some deep breaths and remind yourself, I play nicely with these characters. Not everything is as it seems. Some angst ahead, but soon a happy helping of fluff to end. I wouldn't leave this story on the sour note of the season finale. ;)  
_

_Thanks so much friendly reviewers and followers! It never gets old to receive your support. **D**-Very good point about Lance finding his place. I never have mayo-hate it. I hope that doesn't exclude me from future WSDs. **Cassiopeia**-Get ready for something else you wouldn't expect, but remember, until you hear from the horse's mouth you haven't gotten the true story. :) Horse's mouth awaits you in Chapter 12, so stick with me at least until then, ok? I've grown to love Zack even more through writing this fic. :D **Peanutmeg**-Yeah, Sheila wasn't so bad! See, Lance was assuming the worst! **RT**-Mind reading again, always with the mind reading. Geez. You'll see what I mean in Chapter 12. I agree about Lance, as well-he has been burned and worries he won't be accepted. There's more of that to come. **SFT**-I've been guilty of watching eps that way! You're right-there's never enough Sweets to go around. I fill in every episode with supplemental Sweets scenes in my head, leaving me to ponder endless oneshots that fizzle and die. **Katy**-Hello newly named one! Did you have a life changing experience that inspired the rechristening? Thanks for your sweet reviews, and oh my goodness-the enormous compliment! There are only 3 chapters left after this one, just to prepare you. **BreeilnaBane**-Thanks for the rave review. I feel like a prize chef with a five star restaurant! _

_

* * *

_

The day had come when Lance had promised Booth he'd tell the Jeffersonian team the truth. Though he and Booth walked together to the Jeff, Sweets was finding it difficult to lift his feet. Booth glanced a little at Sweets from the corner of his eye, but he didn't attempt to make small talk. He allowed Lance to gather his thoughts. Lance was grateful that Daisy wasn't coming on rotation till tomorrow—he would probably be the talk of the lab for the rest of the day.

When Sweets and Booth entered the lounge of the lab, Cam, Brennan, Hodgins, and Angela were already assembled, sipping coffee and chatting. It was one in the afternoon, and Hodgins was snacking on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. In the process, purple jelly had gotten tangled in his beard, and Angela was trying to wipe it away with spit in a motherly fashion, much to Hodgins' mortification. Sweets shook his head. He was glad that these two had finally reunited. They were meant to be. He had a strange sensation: envy?

Lance's iPhone rang. He glanced down and saw that it was from McKinley.

"Sorry, I have to take this. Just a minute," he apologized to the crowd, though no one was really paying attention to him.

Booth swept over to the couch where Brennan sat and immediately lounged.

After listening briefly to the voice on the line, the color drained from Sweets' face.

He said flatly, "Thank you." He thought, This _can't_ be.

Booth immediately detected something was amiss. "Sweets!" His voice cut over the din of the conversation. The team was silenced by his urgency. "What's wrong?"

Lance turned to face the team as if in slow motion. He couldn't believe what he was about to tell them. His voice quavered, "Zack stole a bunch of pills from some of the other patients at McKinley and then attempted to take his own life this morning. He's alive."

Everyone cried out, but Angela the loudest. "Zack!" she clapped her hand over her mouth and tears flooded into her eyes. Booth lunged and grabbed Bones' shoulder as if to protect her from the terrible news.

Cam asked shakily, "How could he have stolen medication, Dr. Sweets?"

Lance looked at her, a bit wild. "I dunno, the same way he switched out my magnetic strip on my ID card last year! I don't know how he does this stuff! He's wily! And determined!"

Lance sat down and ran his hand over his hair and face, making his curls stand up. He was in shock and devastated. Why hadn't he prevented this? He had one thought in his mind: Zack hadn't slept. How long had it been? Lance hadn't seen Zack since last week. He had been too focused on preparing for this meeting and dealing with his own problems. He had let his patient down.

"I've…I've failed him." He'd failed everyone. "I'm so sorry!" he said quietly to no one in particular.

"This is no time for apologizes; we need to go to him!" Brennan said urgently. Then seeing Sweets look up more hurt than ever, she added, "It's not your fault any more than it's my fault. Where is he?" So Lance wasn't the only one staving off horrible guilt.

* * *

At the hospital, the team was not allowed to see Zack at first, not even Sweets. Zack was asleep. Everyone sat staring vacantly in the waiting room, which was deserted except for the ghostlike faces of the Jeffersonian team. It felt like a morbid family gathering, and Sweets knew that this moment was as right as any to spill his secret; in fact, it was supremely appropriate timing given the events of the day.

Lance cleared his throat. "I was going to tell you guys something at the meeting, but if it's ok, I'll just say it now. It's somewhat relevant."

A few pairs of eyes glanced up at him, but Angela remained staring into her lap, tears running down her face. Cam nodded to signal that Sweets should proceed.

"I want to tell you why I was in an institution—it might shed some light on...Zack." He sighed. "Some of you know that I was adopted…well, I had a difficult life before my parents—my adopted parents, that is—saved me at age six. As an adolescent, I had a lot of trouble managing my pain, and well, tried to harm myself. Fortunately, I was saved again by the people who loved me. But I didn't quite trust myself after that."

He paused and then continued pointedly, "You have to understand that when you're in the frame of mind where you want to die, you've lost all perspective. Nothing makes sense anymore—the world is distorted and bleak. You believe there is only one answer and it consumes you." He was now referring to Zack. Angela looked up in wonder.

Booth was listening with intent interest. This version of the story was far less detailed than what Sweets had told him on the stone bench at McKinley. First, Lance had begun by showing Booth something chilling.

"_All right, let me show you something," said Sweets mysteriously. He took off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves to reveal tiny razor blade scars on his wrists._

"_You tried to kill yourself," Booth understood. He looked away quickly from the small slit marks._

"_I did. At the end of high school. I was feeling worthless, and some bullies got to me. They cornered me in the locker room—stole my clothes…" Lance shivered. He couldn't bring himself to say aloud how they had urinated on him and called him filthy names. "I lost my way, Booth. It's my biggest regret in life. My parents found me in time, because imagine this—I'm not all that handy with a blade." He laughed bitterly._

"_That's a good thing, Sweets." Booth swallowed an enormous lump that felt like rocks. Sweets' words seemed to physically hurt his ears._

"_My parents pulled me from high school. I finished up, you know. Moved to Canada and went to college. Started over. Things were better for awhile—I came back to the states for my Masters, but I just couldn't escape my past, no matter where I moved, no matter how much psychology I studied. You know about the scars on my back…"_

In the hospital waiting room, Lance continued his skeleton version of facts. Booth snapped back to reality. "Before I moved to New York to get my doctorates, I suffered a brief nervous breakdown. I was under a lot of personal stress. I checked myself into an institution for a short time. Three months."

Lance didn't go into anymore detail, again causing Booth to reflect on what Sweets had confessed to him.

"_The scars were always there, haunting me, reminding me of how my father had treated me like an insect to be swatted and ultimately thrown away," Lance said bitterly._

"_Your father?"_

"_My biological father."_

_Booth nodded. _

"_I just wanted to meet a nice girl, you know? Be a normal person! I was 18, and I'd never…" Lance forced himself to confess this embarrassing truth to the always popular and handsome Booth, "I'd never had a date. Never been kissed. Nothing. I met someone finally, and when she saw my back—"_

"_She left?"_

"_Well…she left after that night, yes. She never spoke to me again—never called. She vanished from my life. I'm mortified to admit that it totally broke me. I lost control and couldn't trust myself, so I went to student health. They didn't have the kind of resources for someone in my condition—" Booth looked confused. Lance explained, "I'd had a nervous breakdown. So I checked myself into a mental health facility, just for that summer. I actually recovered pretty quickly. Maybe it wasn't even necessary, but I needed a haven from my own darkness, just in case."_

_Booth thought for a long while and then asked, "Do you ever worry about your safety now?"_

_Lance tried to crack a reassuring smile. "No. If that place taught me anything, it's that I'm lucky enough to have the strength and skills to handle myself. I now know how to get out of my own head."_

"_I can understand that," Booth replied, thinking of the hours he had recently spent brooding over Bones. Not that he was in danger of harming himself, but this conversation reminded him that it was unhealthy, and he needed to stop. He had once brooded over his alcoholic father to the point of losing perspective himself. _

"_Well, that's it," Lance sighed. "Do you think I'm crazy?"_

_Booth chuckled without smiling. "Yes, but not because of this! Because of that jacket-sweater vest combination you're wearing. It's 80 degrees and muggy out!"_

_Lance chuckled a little, too. "It was cold in my apartment."_

_Booth continued more seriously, "I think you need to put the rumors to rest for the team, Sweets. In this case, the not knowing is much worse than the knowing."_

_Lance nodded assent._

Back in the present, Lance completed his speech to the team. "I recovered quite quickly and continued on with my schooling. Since then, I've learned to deal with my pain, and I'm not in danger of hurting myself anymore. I've tried to devote my life to helping others cope with this kind of distress…I guess I'm not doing such a good job." His voice cracked, and he collapsed further back into his seat.

No one knew quite what to say, so Cam spoke up. "Well it seems we have a lot of people to be grateful for."

"Excuse me?" Lance asked, not understanding her.

"For helping to keep you safe, just as we have a lot of people to be grateful to for keeping Zack safe…including you, I might add."

"But I wasn't there. I didn't help Zack!" Sweets responded in confusion.

Cam almost interrupted. "You weren't there this morning, no. But you've been helping him all this time. We don't know what caused Zack to break today. But we do know that for the past more than a year, he has been making progress with you."

Lance's mouth dropped open. All he could think was, What progress? Nothing had worked.

Before he could make sense of Cam's words, a nurse came in.

"Is there a Dr. Lance Sweets here?"

"Yes!" Lance shot up.

"Your patient, Zack Addy, is awake. He would like to see you."


	12. Chapter 12

_I'm a naughty, naughty girl posting when I should be working, but my summer of teaching freedom has almost met its demise, so why not mourn my loss by bringing this fic to a close? Two more chapters after this one._

_Awww, I love my faithful readers! __**RT**__—I'm glad you appreciated the time weaving; I was concerned it would be a bit confusing, but thank the heavens for italics. *hugs* __**Mysterious Jedi**__—Zack will get some sugar soon too. ;)__** BreeilnaBane**__—Thanks for being so supportive! :D __**SFT**__—I've had "Peak" in MY head since you wrote that review. *tries to swat out of brain* That's ok, I really dig that song. I'm glad I could satisfy your interest in the Booth-Sweets tell all. Of course you loved the clothes, you crazy fangirl. You amuse me to no ends! :D **Peanutmeg**—You'll learn a little more about Zack in this chapter. Thanks for reading so religiously! *hugs* **D**-You analysis of Zack is very sound. I agree! As to Booth, well I explored that a little in "The Boy in the Field." I think Booth would be reluctant to share details about his past with Sweets except under extreme duress, as suggested in Mayhem on a Cross-even as he confessed to suicidal thoughts he directed his confession toward Bones rather than Sweets. This is why I wish we could have seen a bit more of Booth's post brain tumor therapy with Sweets at the beginning of season 5. I wonder how much he talked when he felt his very sense of self had come unraveled.  
_

_

* * *

_

A beam of late afternoon light illuminated the pale and slightly puffy face of Zack Addy in his hospital bed. Sweets pulled up a chair to sit at his patient's side. He fought the urge to be angry with Zack. How had it come to this?

"Dr. Sweets. You look upset," Zack said quietly, barely moving his lips.

"Of course, I'm upset, Zack. I want you to get better. I want you to thrive. Not…leave us." Lance swallowed his emotions by gulping loudly.

"You should know, I didn't try to kill myself."

"Excuse me? You collected a bunch of pills from other patients and then took them in one dose!" Lance widened his eyes.

"I took enough pills to make me sick, not to kill me. I'm a scientist, Dr. Sweets. I knew exactly what would happen."

Sweets' jaw dropped. "What? Why then?" He could hardly articulate himself.

"I needed to get out of McKinley for a little while. I couldn't sleep there. The more I thought about not being able to sleep, the less I could sleep. I even attempted the utterly useless practice of counting sheep. Then I recited theorems, which was more interesting but also useless. Nothing worked. I hadn't gotten more than an hour or two of rest at a time in over a week, Dr. Sweets."

"Zack, I'm your psychologist. You tell me things like that! I can help you." Lance rubbed his face with both hands. So many emotions had consumed him in the past hour that he just wanted to curl up and cry. He felt like asking Zack to move over, so _he_ could get some sleep.

Zack assessed Sweets silently.

"I talked to your sister last week. She told me about your problems as a teenager. How you feigned illnesses," Lance began.

"I didn't feign—"

"I'm trained to detect when people are lying. Don't try it with me," Lance snapped a little. "Can you explain in your own words what was going on?"

Zack thought for a long moment. "My life was boring in Michigan. I had no one to stimulate me. My teachers were charlatans, my classmates simpletons. I was just one face in a crowd in my family. It made more sense for me to train myself at home. You know, a number of famous intellectual giants taught themselves a great deal through self-directed study—Thomas Edison, Alexander Pope…"

Lance nodded to interrupt. "Well, I think you're on to something. You've struggled for a long time to set yourself apart in life. You're obviously a genius, but you were born in a place that had little use for your brain. Even at the Jeffersonian, where you finally found your calling, you were in Dr. Brennan's shadow. You felt you hadn't really distinguished yourself beyond her."

Zack looked stricken.

Sweets continued, "What was it your military psychiatrist said? You should think about why the only team you ever prospered on was at the Jeffersonian? Perhaps it was because it was the only place you ever got the kind of recognition you craved. Everyone loved and revered you. But it wasn't enough. You went to Iraq to flee the nest, and you couldn't handle it. You weren't cut out for war. For the first time in life, you didn't excel! Your skills were useless among people who didn't value you. They believed that you had no compassion for the horrible circumstances of war and expelled you."

Lance didn't necessarily believe this line of logic—he was trying to force Zack to self realization, because he honestly didn't know the truth of Zack. He felt a little guilty for using a tactic that bordered on manipulation, but he was desperate and a little angry that Zack had manipulated everyone who cared about him just to get a night's rest in the hospital.

Sweets finished, "You came back to the Jeffersonian, and no one understood what you'd been through—the suffering you had witnessed. They wanted you to pick up just like before, but you'd grown, you'd changed. You had distinguished yourself from Dr. Brennan, and no one even noticed! No one commented. But the 'Master,' as you call him, did. He selected you specially for your talents, and set you apart from all other humans as the one uniquely qualified for his task. The task that would save humanity from itself."

Lance's tactic worked.

"No, you are wrong, Dr. Sweets!" Zack replied crisply, shaking with ire. "This is not about my ego. Psychology is not a science and cannot explain…me. It was logic that drew me to the Master. The pursuit of logic!"

Lance interrupted Zack, unwilling to listen to him suggest that the field responsible for studying human behavior was not appropriate for analyzing_ his _behavior. "You know what, Zack? You and Dr. Brennan, claim to have a problem with psychology, but that's because my field has the power to expose your greatest weakness!"

Zack looked at Lance very seriously, his face flushed with anger. The tension in the room had built to the point of explosion. The two men's chests visibly rose and fell.

Finally, Zack spoke up. "What, like kryptonite?" And then…he smiled.

Lance burst out laughing, releasing his own tension. "Zack, you know Superman?" he asked with open glee.

Zack replied, "Of course. I had Superman underpants when I was a child…you know, in the family who neglected to nurture my intellect, causing me to take up a life of unrestrained dissembling."

Sweets smiled some more and then added, "Hey, you're funny, Zack!"

Zack's smile faded. "I know you want to understand me and help me, Dr. Sweets, but _I_ still can't comprehend how I could have made such poor, unjustifiable decisions. How can you know what I don't when this is my mind we're discussing?"

"We will just have to keep working together. With two smart guys like us at the task, we'll figure you out eventually," Lance offered. And because he'd been so harsh a moment earlier, he continued, "Zack, your team in Iraq was wrong. You do have compassion for others. For years you devoted your immense talents and intellect to solving murders, bringing peace to people's families. Further, you love your friends deeply; you're extremely faithful to them."

Zack thought back to his recent conversation with Booth. "Booth told me to find the good in the darkness and fight for it."

"Booth's very wise, Zack. I honestly don't know what I'd do without him." Again, Sweets was shocked by how confessional he often became with Zack. Talking to Zack was almost like talking to the tiny part of his own personality that scared him…the highly intellectual side that his parents had encouraged him to subordinate to sympathy and kindness. "Along with great wisdom comes great responsibility. You need to decide what you can do in McKinley to live a purposeful existence. Taking a handful of pills to escape your reality was a tremendous copout. You're a better man than that."

Zack looked out the window pensively, his head resting on his pillow.

"Get some rest," Lance said gently and rose to leave.

Zack called, "Please send in Hodgins?"

Lance nodded and closed the door. Then he stood outside and tried to collect himself. He wiped at a few tears. He had no desire to go back into the waiting room given his recent revelations to the Jeffersonian team. He slowly placed one foot in front of the other until he almost bumped into Cam.

"Dr. Saroyan? Um, Zack wants to see Hodgins. He wasn't trying to kill himself—just get some sleep." Sweets barely glanced up.

Cam pushed to make eye contact with Sweets, who was feeling weepy at the mere sight of her. He finally relented and looked at her directly, his eyes red-rimmed.

"I'll let Hodgins know in a moment, Dr. Sweets, but I came to find you. Are you ok?"

"Mh hm," Sweets mumbled. "Zack's the one who—"

"Zack has you to help him. I just want to make sure _you_ are ok."

"I'm ok," he said using his words this time. His brown eyes betrayed worry and pain.

Cam briskly stepped up and gave him a hug. It wasn't quite as bone crushing as the hug he had inflicted on her last October during their first embrace, but it was a firm, warm squeeze. Relief flooded into Lance.

"You made the brave choice telling us. I think I speak for everyone when I say that I admire your courage. Hell, I admire your character. You've been through a lot for a young guy, but you carry yourself well."

Lance was embarrassed and didn't feel he deserved quite so much praise. "Err, thanks. I'm going to uh, use the bathroom. You'll tell Hodgins about Zack?"

"I will." Cam watched the psychologist retreat and marveled at the team she had the privilege of working with and even leading when they let her. She smiled to herself thinking even geniuses needed direction in life. She should know—she dealt with them every day. With guilt she thought, God, I could use a smoke.

* * *

Hodgins crept into the dimly lit hospital room in which his friend lay with eyes wide open.

"Zack." He took Zack's hand, as he settled down beside him. "Cam told us you weren't trying to kill yourself, but then why did you—"

"Hodgins. I made something for you and Angela. Please show it to her."

He took out what appeared to be a paper box speckled with colored fragments and handed it to Hodgins.

"I made sure that the hospital staff didn't throw it away when they took my clothes," Zack said as if this explained everything.

Hodgins took the box. He first noticed that it could be opened, and inside the box was another box and another box and so on, like a Matrushka doll. It was seven boxes in total, the last one as tiny and delicate as it could be and still have been crafted by a human hand and seen by a human eye.

"Seven symbolizes togetherness in Chinese, half of Angela's ethnic heritage. It is actually one of the rare numbers that is lucky in many cultures," informed Zack.

Hodgins was amazed and peered more carefully—there were words on the papers.

"What do they say?"

"While in the loony bin, I collected every letter, note, and postcard I got from my friends and family and kept them in my mattress. Last week I took all of the most meaningful words: love, miss, kind, hope, heal, and so on, and taped them together to make these boxes to commemorate your marriage. The boxes inside one another symbolize the family that you and Angela have begun."

Hodgins' eyes filled with water, and he didn't care that he was going to cry. He squeezed Zack's hand and looked down as the tears slid onto his cheeks and beard.

"You don't like it?" Zack asked distressed.

Hodgins summoned all of his composure and managed, "It's the best gift I've ever received from the best friend I've ever had." He was utterly choked up.

Zack said, "All of my correspondents stopped writing in December, including you. I cut up everything to make those boxes, and now I have no letters left…" He seemed very sad.

Hodgins jumped in, "We'll remedy that Zack. Someone at the Jeffersonian will write you every week. You'll have so many potential boxes that you won't know what to do with them!"

Zack looked like he might protest and opened his mouth, but then he closed it again and sank back down into bed. He shut his eyes in peaceful contentment.

Hodgins continued to hold his hand, new tears forming and trickling down.


	13. Chapter 13

_Well readers, one chapter to go after this. Thanks for the response on this story. It has been very kind and encouraging!  
_

_**Katy**-Sweets scared you? ;) Well, maybe he had the effect on you he was hoping to have on Zack. Too bad Zack remains somewhat of an enigma. I just watched The Princess and the Pear for the millionth time, and your new name is making me laugh! M'Lady! *Agent Perotta rolls eyes* **RT**-My advisor didn't let me use italics in grad school, so I think I became deprived. I do, however, feel guilty whenever I employ them still! My own personal Dr. Brennan will always haunt me...I'm glad you found the lighter and more comforting moments of the chapter satisfying. You need a little extra cheer these days! **BreeilnaBane**-It's all an illusion. Well I am a fast writer, but I've been keeping 2-3 chapters ahead on this one, so I can seemingly post like the wind! Thank you for your kind words. **Peanutmeg**-You're comments always bring a smile to my face. You are a model reviewer-so diligent! I appreciate it endlessly. **D**-This is such a good point. I've thought about that a lot. I believe that Sweets was only touched as a little boy inappropriately and that his adopted parents tried to make up for this by being very affectionate. Hence, I think he is a little confused on this front and suffers from self image issues. I don't pretend to have thought about Zack at the same level, but obviously something was lacking in his upbringing. Thanks for your faithful reading and your insightful reviews. **Cassiopeia**-Glad to provide answers! You are a very smart reader, and I didn't doubt that you knew Zack-I'm just grateful that you trusted me with him! :) I'm sorry to hear about your family's own struggles. Sigh. I write about issues I'm all too familiar with, so I wish your family peace.  
_

_

* * *

_

A week had passed since Zack's hospitalization. He had returned to McKinley and was mercifully sleeping again. Lance was hatching a plan to bring a little extra cheer Zack's way, but first he had to attend to the problem of Booth (who had narrowly avoided a suspension), Dr. Brennan, and their seemingly precarious partnership. This would inevitably be followed by the unpleasant task of convincing Andrew to sanction their future together.

Currently, Lance had Dr. Brennan in his office. She was using his tiny rake to refashion the Zen garden that sat between them and avoiding eye contact. They had talked a bit about the Gravedigger case, and Brennan had just admitted to suffering unspeakable nightmares. Sweets was trying to drag her attention away from the little rock garden with his eyes.

"Dr. Brennan? Why don't you put down the rake and tell me a little more about these nightmares," he suggested helpfully.

She reluctantly obeyed in speech only. She did not drop the gardening implement but continued raking with increased force. "In my dreams, Hodgins is bleeding and being pulled away by some invisible power. I can't get to him in time. Booth is locked in an airtight capsule with a small window. I see him screaming and calling out to me for help—water floods in and he drowns." Brennan flinched painfully as she recounted this. "I am being buried alive in a glass coffin. Heather Taffet is shoveling dirt on my grave and laughing at me." Brennan's lower lip trembled.

Sweets felt terrible for her. He reached over and gently removed the rake from her grasp.

She looked up fretfully. "You aren't going to try to convince me that this dream is some sublimation of a sexual urge, are you?"

Lance shook his head. "No, I think it's very clear to you already what this dream means. You almost lost your friends and your own life. What happened to you and to them was terrifying. I'm sorry you had to endure it."

His eyes were filled with genuine compassion, and Brennan was a little stunned at his response. Psychology was often so asinine, she often expected the worst. But the man sitting before her exuded empathy. Awash in warmth and kindness, she actually felt a little better, like during those moments when she confessed her fears to Booth.

Lance continued, "These nightmares, they'll decrease over time. For now, you'll have to take comfort in your waking world—your friends, your work. Focus on the small things that bring you joy."

Her face fell at the mention of work. "As I told Booth, I'm tired of dealing with murderers and victims and sadness and pain." She looked at her hands. "Booth says I should just take a vacation."

"That sounds like good advice to me. Some time off, some perspective…"

"No…I need more than that." Just as Sweets was about to ask what she meant by that, Brennan swiftly cut him off, "Dr. Sweets, I have a case to attend to. A hoarder fell through the third floor of an apartment building, and Booth, Cam, Hodgins, and I are required at the scene. Booth is going to get some pictures to you for your analysis."

"A hoarder, huh?" Lance asked curiously. He had wanted to draw out more of Dr. Brennan's feelings about her job, but she'd already passed into unwillingness. He knew from experience that pushing would only expedite her departure.

As it was, she was heading for the door, but she did pause. "If I left the Jeffersonian, would you and Angela and Hodgins and Cam…"

Sweets looked up and read her expression. "We'd still be there for you. But…you mean leave on vacation, right? Dr. Brennan?"

She had already whisked away with a flourish of skirt. Lance was deeply worried that the point he was planning on arguing before Andrew—that the Booth-Brennan partnership would prevail—was already moot.

* * *

If Sweets thought he felt bad after that conversation, he was utterly demolished by the end of the week. By the time he had dragged Booth kicking and screaming into his office for their promised 'session,' Daisy and Dr. Brennan had both decided to go to the Maluku Islands, while Booth had all but committed to training soldiers in Afghanistan.

While it now appeared that Booth and Brennan wouldn't be working together for at least a year, Lance still believed the time was apt to discuss the future of their partnership. Booth did not agree. He was fidgeting and grumbling about needing to wrap up the case for Caroline, who had grown excessively pushy in the past few days.

"Agent Booth? Would you please—just put the sumo ball down! I just want to talk to you for a few minutes before you go across the globe back into harm's way, ok?" Sweets gasped exasperated.

Booth who was squeezing Sweets' stress ball to its near demise, released his rubber victim and sat back on the couch, folding his hands. "Fine. Five minutes, Sweets." He checked his watch in confirmation that he would be timing the psychologist.

"Ok, so you're going. Right?" Sweets began desperately.

"I haven't officially said yes, but well, Parker said I should go. He wants me to save lives. Be a hero."

"Parker said so."

"Yes."

"What about Dr. Brennan?"

"She wants me to go, too! She basically begged me to take this assignment. She doesn't think she's cut out for solving murders right now anyway."

"So she told me." Lance cleared his throat. "Booth, I want you to know that…that I really wanted things to work out between you two."

"What?" Booth looked up sharply. "Sweets, me and Bones, we're partners. Things have always worked out in the past. They always will."

"Do you really still believe that? I mean, how can you be so optimistic?" Lance felt emotional given the fact that his own fiancée had unceremoniously dumped him by virtue of moving to Indonesia. He bit his bottom lip.

Booth was becoming alarmed that Sweets was going to cry. He knew that his friend was taking the loss of Daisy very hard, though he frankly believed Sweets was better off without her. "I dunno, Sweets. The bond I have with Bones is like…something I've only experienced with men I've been in combat with. Bones and I been through the trivial and the life changing. We'd give our lives for each other. Things haven't necessarily gone the way I might have hoped, but I know I'll be back at this job in one year. I have to trust that Bones will want to do the same. I don't _know_, I _trust_."

"Why…why don't I feel that way about Daisy?" Lance's lip quivered a little. His expressive brown eyes shone.

"Sweets, I'm no psychologist, but I think you already know the answer to that question. Look man, I'll be back, ok? One year. It'll fly by." Booth added this last bit when he realized that Sweets wasn't only preemptively missing Daisy.

Lance blinked away his raw emotions. "I guess I don't have to convince Andrew anymore about the staying power of your partnership."

"No, but I wouldn't mind if you worked on driving him out of his ever-loving mind while I'm gone, so that he flees the FBI. I mean, Sweets, it's your secret weapon. You can be really, really annoying when you focus!"

Sweets didn't smile but instead crossed the room to stand near Booth. "Please be careful in Afghanistan, Booth." He put out his hand somberly.

"Aw, Sweets. I'm like a cat," Booth said, taking his hand and squeezing it, while clapping him on the back with his other.

"Mm hm, thanks. That's a great comfort, Booth," Sweets said sarcastically. "My cat, Knox, once tried to throw himself down the stairwell to get at a neighbor's baguette." He pursed his lips. "Don't forget about tomorrow—McKinley. Everyone should be there."

"Yeah, Cam told me to be there tomorrow at 2. But what for?"

"It's a surprise. For Zack. For everyone."

"Ok, Sweets. Whatever you say."

Booth grinned in that way that only he could. It made Sweets feel like a million bucks. He was finally cool after all these years. He was home. And then…he remembered Booth was leaving for one of the most dangerous places on the planet.


	14. Chapter 14

_Here it is: The End. I realize this would most likely never happen at an institution, but you've probably taken in stride such unrealistic things on "Bones" as Booth not getting a date for a year or Hodgins having 3 Ph.D.s, so try to suspend your disbelief. ;) __On that note, RL demands that I pull back from FF for a bit to achieve some professional goals. I might still post the occasional story here and will continue my Live Journal of the same pen name-a bastion of Sweets fanfic. Warning though—my LJ contains whimsical, dark, and/or risqué Sweets' fics, is updated haphazardly, and is not suitable for all audiences.  
_

_Thanks for the amazing response to this story! I've had a great time with you all. Send me a postcard in Maluku—the universal refuge of those putting work before fun! :(_

_**SFT**-Thank you, thank you for those lovely reviews. They really lifted my spirits! I have the depressing RL endeavor of restructuring my book before I get it to the publisher, and you made me feel like I have it in me! Now if only it were about Lance Sweets...Really, thank you! :D _

_**Cassiopeia**-I hope this chapter leaves you with a happy memory of the story! Thanks for being such a dedicated reader! I had some fears that I wouldn't be able to please the Zack-lovin' community, but I appreciate you sticking with me and being so kind. Thanks again! :)_

_**RT**-Thanks so much! I guess I continue to write therapy scenes, because so often Sweets scenes on the show take place in his office. I'll probably never get tired of that. ;) I hope you enjoy this fluff! Fluff is good for the soul._

_**D**-A job from dad! *claps hands* Exactly. I relish your reviews. They make posting stories oh so worth it! Hmm, Swaisy. Well I've gone back and forth about that. I agree that Sweets needs someone who can help him grow; someone Boothy. I want Sweets to find his "Bones"-his perfect partnership. If Daisy does a 180 from the season finale than so be it; if not, I may be hostile toward a reunion. *gets out the mayonnaise just in case* (Why did that sound so dirty?)_

_**Peanutmeg**-You're a sweetheart! Take your surprise-you deserve it! :D  
_

_

* * *

_

Lance had set up a mass rendezvous at McKinley at 2pm. Though the world was falling apart—Booth traipsing off to a war zone, Brennan and the love of his life abandoning him to Maluku, and Hodgins and Angela embarking for an extended Parisian honeymoon—Lance wanted to produce a memory that they could all hold on to.

He had pulled every string in the book and secured use of a common room at the institution, insisting that this was essential to Zack's therapy. Quite honestly, Sweets believed it _was_ necessary to Zack's health...and everyone else's.

No one was quite aware of what was happening. Lance simply told the team to wait in the common room, and he would arrange for them to meet Zack individually, as always. Zack needed a goodbye, he assured them. And so Cam, Hodgins, Angela, Brennan, and Booth waited in the lurid orange room for Sweets to return and call them one by one. Oddly enough their surroundings contained a bookshelf filled with old games, a communal table (around which they congregated), and an ancient upright piano with warped keys.

Hodgins couldn't help but comment, "Hey, this looks like the loony bin recreation room. Anyone for Parcheesi?" He withdrew the dusty game from its resting place.

"Does anyone actually enjoy Parcheesi?" Angela asked dryly.

"Nope, it's a conspiracy of game manufacturers. You buy it, you get it home, and then you realize you'd rather be playing chess," Hodgins replied, tossing the game aside in resignation.

"Actually, it is probably based on the game Pachisi, developed around 500 BC by Indian royalty, or perhaps the earlier Korean game Nyout—" Brennan had hopelessly descended into pedantic mode.

"Seriously, someone make her stop. The only thing more boring than playing Parcheesi is enduring Brennan's factoids about it," Angela begged.

* * *

Meanwhile Lance had dashed off to Zack's room. Zack was in bed, lying on his side gazing at the wall. Lance couldn't see his expression, but he guessed it was some variation of boredom. This frustrated Lance given their talk last week about Zack assuming responsibility for his own growth at the institution.

"Hey, Zack! C'mon, you have a visitor," Sweets called, an orderly holding the door open for him.

Zack registered confusion, because he wasn't usually retrieved by Dr. Sweets. But he rose and followed dutifully.

"Zack, what did I say about sitting in your room and staring vacantly?" Lance scolded.

"I was reciting Tolstoy's _A Confession_. I have been memorizing it."

Lance glanced back at his companion. "Cheery choice. But...I'm proud of you for engaging in philosophical growth. Sorry I doubted you." He quoted, "'I feared life, desired to escape from it, yet still hoped something of it.' I've read it a number of times myself."1

"Page 12," Zack offered blasély.

The pair trudged on as afternoon light streamed in the windows, hinting at a life outside of McKinley.

"This isn't the way to the visitation room," Zack commented.

Lance lead him along in silence. Finally he stopped in front of the common room and nodded at the orderly, who stepped aside. Lance put a hearty hand on Zack's shoulder.

"Zack, happy birthday!" he cried joyously, as he threw open the door.

Everyone in the room was as shocked to see Zack as he was to see them. They rushed over to embrace and laugh with him.

"Dude, it's your birthday? Wait…no it's…" Now Hodgins was confused.

"Is it really your birthday?" Cam asked.

"It is not my birthday, Dr. Sweets," Zack replied, his brow furrowed.

"Ok, then it's your unbirthday. Look, I couldn't wait for the real thing to come around—I had to arrange this now, before everyone leaves the country. So go ahead, celebrate your birthday this year right now! Who makes the rules about this stuff anyway?" Sweets insisted.

In fact, Lance didn't have a copy of his own birth certificate and hadn't known his own birthday for a number of years growing up. His parents had always made it a point to celebrate his adoption day. He found that infinitely more satisfying than going on about an occasion over which you had no control, when you had been unceremoniously expelled from the random woman who had conceived you. But then again, the random woman who had conceived Sweets had never been much of a mother to him.

Lance inched away from the crowd, mumbling something about how he needed to talk to Dr. Harper about Zack's treatment. He didn't know why he was fleeing exactly, but he had never really been a part of the team before Zack's foray into darkness. Part of Lance felt guilty that he had gained acceptance at the Jeffersonian after Zack had been locked up, as if he had replaced the wunderkind with some pale imitation of the real thing.

Booth and Cam exchanged glances as Sweets slipped out the door.

* * *

The team laughed and chatted, and Hodgins brought out a deck of cards from the shelf of games. They decided to play spoons with some trinkets from the men's pockets, because it seemed the most ridiculous and raucous possible card game. While everyone was shrieking and grabbing for credit cards, dollar bills, and used Kleenex, Booth scooted back from the table.

"Going to find Sweets," he muttered. He was upset that Sweets had been gone this long. Booth had given him the benefit of the doubt that he really had needed to find that Harper delinquent, but now Sweets seemed to be avoiding the party he had orchestrated.

Sweets turned out to be incredibly easy to find. He was sitting on a bench outside in the hall, looking dejected, his head bowed toward his knees.

"Sweets! What are you doing out here? The fun's in there!" Booth pointed sternly toward the common room.

"I…well, I was never really friends with Zack like you guys were. I was just giving you all a chance to bond. Zack has to go back to his room in 15 minutes," Lance mumbled, reddening.

Booth gave Sweets a look that said, Are you serious? Then he lifted the psychologist up by the arm and dragged him toward the door.

"Heyyyy," Lance whined, trying to shake free.

Booth ejected him into the room with a flourish.

He announced, "I found Sweets sitting outside, letting us have all the fun without him."

"What?" Hodgins called, making a 'tsk' sound with his tongue. "Sweets, get over here." He beckoned grandly.

"Yeah, come here, you little brat," Angela called, standing up to yank on his sleeve.

"Dr. Sweets, don't you play piano?" Zack asked suddenly.

"Ummm…" Lance was blushing already, and the question caused his rosy hue to deepen.

"Well, if we're pretending it's my birthday, which is highly irrational," Zack pointed out, turning to Dr. Brennan, who nodded agreement, "then I'd like _you_ to play my birthday song."

Dr. Brennan eagerly clapped her hands together like a little girl at the suggestion. Lance gazed at her and smiled. How could he deny Dr. Brennan this?

He shook his head but moved toward the old, rickety piano. He lifted up the flaps of his suit coat and sat at the bench, scooting it out to accommodate his height. He turned to Zack.

"Happy Birthday?" he asked, unsure of himself.

"You know, in my family we always preferred: The Beatles," Zack informed him. "They are more festive. And if we're pretending this is a birthday party, can we also pretend it's a wedding party?" he looked earnestly at Hodgins and Angela.

'Hodgela' nodded and the Angela half giggled.

Lance said, "Um, let's see. This is not really a piano song, but here goes." He immediately burst out with a few rocking chords and sang in a wild and pleasing imitation of Paul McCartney's voice, "You say it's your birthday! Well it's my birthday, too—yeah!"

Everyone joined in, especially Zack, who provided an astoundingly loud harmony: "They say it's your birthday! We're gonna have a good time!"

Sweets ended with a finale of funky, bluesy chords that caused the room to ring for several seconds. Everyone cheered and clapped.

Hodgins scolded, "Zack, you're not supposed to sing your own birthday song!"

Zack frowned in response. "But I have an excellent singing voice."

"Yeah, you do, Sweetie. But maybe let someone else bring that up!" Angela laughed.

Zack looked at her contemplatively. "Dr. Sweets, you're quite a talented pianist and singer," Zack congratulated him.

"Well, thanks, Zack," Sweets answered, a bit shocked, though he was quite fond of his own clear tenor. "You don't just say things like that, so I know you mean it!"

"Of course I mean it. Why else would I say it?"

"Exactly."

"Exactly what?"

"Ok, now do you see what I have to put up with in therapy?" Lance turned quizzically to the group.

Cam nodded. "We don't envy your job, Dr. Sweets." Then everyone nodded, Hodgins ruffling Zack's hair.

Glancing around the room at the beaming Jeffersonian crew, Lance couldn't help but feel a little sad thinking about their impending break up. Daisy hadn't even left yet, but he was already mourning her loss as if preparing for a death in the family. He forced himself to look on the bright side, as Booth had encouraged him. He gazed from Cam's wide smile, to Dr. Brennan shoving Booth (he was taunting her with the Queen of Hearts), to Angela and Hodgins stealing a kiss, to Zack cocking his head to ask Cam a question. Well, Sweets thought, maybe this wasn't the beginning of the end but a beginning _in _the end. Maybe something new, something good would come of the future.

* * *

1. Leo Tolstoy, _A Confession_ (Kessinger Publishing, reprint 2004), 12.


End file.
